


Instead of My Reflection (I See You)

by TheDragon



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7884595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragon/pseuds/TheDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is nine years old when he first sees Merlin in his mirror. Deciding that the thought of having a new friend is more appealing than having to report the use of magic inside the citadel, Arthur finds himself saddled with an important secret – Merlin's existence. Unfortunately, a secret can only be kept for so long before it comes to light, which this one does - in a spectacular manner. Together, Arthur and Merlin must do whatever they can to keep anyone from learning about Merlin’s magic, whilst trying to find out how Merlin ended up in the mirror in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instead of My Reflection (I See You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/gifts).



> This is my entry for the After Camlann Big Bang, and there are quite a few people I'd like to thank for allowing me to make the most of the experience.
> 
> First of all, I'd like to thank the mods for hosting this amazing event - you managed everything splendidly. 
> 
> I'd also like to thank the artist I was working with (normally I would say ' _my_ artist', but I think this might make me sound a tad too possessive - though yes, I can be very possessive), [LFB72](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72/) for doing such a beautiful job on the art. It can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/After_Camlann_Big_Bang/works/7828708/), and I hope you guys fall in love with it just like I did.
> 
> The last person I'd like to thank is my beta reader ( _yes_ , I know - possessive, but we've already established this and since you already know, I'm not going to hide this fact about me any longer), [Vampirawolfer](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampirawolfer/pseuds/Vampirawolfer/), for beta reading this fanfic.
> 
> It's my first time taking part in the ACBB, and I'm very nervous, and am therefore going to try to use this little fact to try to guilt-trip you guys into commenting (pretty please?).
> 
> Warnings: canon-typical violence, character death
> 
> EDIT: I've recently edited this and I fear I may have accidentally cut out part of the text. If anyone notices anything that seems weird or out of the blue, please let me know so that I may fix it.

The first time Arthur sees him is when he is nine. He is sitting in front of the mirror in his room, waiting for one of the maidservants to come and see to him. It's not every day your father, the King of Camelot, decides to take in the daughter of one of his closest friends as his ward; it calls for a celebration.

Arthur is sitting on the stool in front of the mirror when he hears a voice whisper something. He turns around immediately, looking for the source of the noise - most likely a servant, or maybe even the King himself come to check up on him, but sees nothing other than the dust swirling through the air, easily visible in the sunlight seeping through his window.

He is confused, because he could swear that he heard something, and he's never wrong about these things. He's been training to be a Knight since he could walk - it is impossible for him to be mistaken.

When he hears the noise again, Arthur is instantly alert. He whirls around and jumps off the stool, eyes darting around his chambers in search of a weapon he could use to deal with the threat. The most useful things he comes across is his ceremonial sword. Arthur whirls around to face the threat.

But... Where is the threat? He sees nothing once again.

Still, Arthur refuses to let his guard down. That's twice now that he's heard something, and he's certain that someone must be here with him.

He calls out, demanding for them to show themselves, but nothing happens. Arthur slowly sits back down, holding the ceremonial sword in his right hand. Someone is here. Someone is most certainly watching him - he can sense it.

Unfortunately, there's nothing Arthur can do without first seeing that person. If it even _is_ a person.

It occurs to him that he should probably call someone. One of the guards, perhaps. He could say that he heard something, that he thinks someone may be in his chambers with him.

But what would they do when they realize, just as he had, that there is no-one there? Would they laugh at him, call him out on having an overactive imagination? Because no, no, that just wouldn't do. He is the Prince and he would not have his people talk about him in a way suggesting that he could be mistaken about anything at all.

So he sits there, continuing to warily eye his chambers, looking for anything out of the ordinary. It is not until a few minutes later that he hears another rustle and feels a featherlight, almost non-existent, touch on his shoulder, and he is once again out of his seat, sword ready to slash through whoever might be there.

He's astounded when he finds no-one. But that's not right, because he knows he's not just making things up - he definitely felt something just now.

He hears someone clear their throat.

Arthur looks up, sword poised to strike, despite it being a terribly blunt thing that is unlikely to do much damage, but at least it can serve to intimidate. That is, if anyone's going to be intimidated by a nine-year-old child.

He sees a reflection in the mirror - a boy who looks to be a year or two younger than Arthur himself. He has short black hair and large, dark blue eyes. Arthur's never seen him around before. The reflection suggests that he's standing right behind Arthur, but when Arthur turns around to confront him, there is no-one. He turns back to the mirror, expecting the boy to be gone, but he's still there. The reflection is still there.

It is then that Arthur realizes that this must be sorcery. There’s no other way to explain it. He's about to call the guards over, so that they can do something about this evil; purge it from existence, perhaps, and keep it away from Arthur, because this must be a magical attack. Someone wants to hurt him, and he knows this because that's what the King is always telling him. Sorcerers seek to take control of the kingdom, and they will kill as many people as they need to in order to do so. As the Prince, Arthur is one of those in the most danger.

The boy in the mirror must realize what Arthur is about to do, because he raises his hand to try to stop him. And then there it is, once again. That delicate touch, just the barest graze of fingertips on his arm, and Arthur promptly ceases all movement. He closes his mouth, and eyes the boy with a mixture of suspicion and slight curiosity. He's never been this close to anything to do with magic before and, against his better judgement, it fascinates him.

He decides not to call the guards, and instead just watches the boy. Besides, such a small child is unlikely to do anyone much harm, and Arthur can protect himself if he has to. He is the Prince of Camelot, after all, and he's been training to kill since birth.

Arthur raises an eyebrow at the boy, the ceremonial sword still raised high in the air between him and the mirror, and demands with as much authority as he can muster, "Who are you?"

The boy blinks twice and looks at Arthur warily. His eyes flit around the room, as if he is looking for someone to show up. He seems scared.

As he should be. He is a sorcerer and Arthur is the Prince. Should Arthur tell anyone about this, the boy would be executed in an instant, although Arthur isn't entirely sure how they would go about that. Would destroying the mirror be enough? Or would the King need to send men to look for the child, to follow whatever rumors there were and find him, to burn him at the stake?

The thought of killing someone so young in such a way makes Arthur's stomach turn, so he doesn't think about it. Instead, he glares at the boy, who has by now retracted his hand from Arthur's shoulder (and Arthur's still not sure how that works).

"Merlin," the boy whispers, seemingly looking anywhere but at Arthur's eyes. "My name is Merlin."

"And what are you doing here, Merlin?" Arthur asks, in part because he needs to know - this boy _did_ just suddenly appear in his mirror - and in part because he's curious. Merlin's eyes finally land on him, and goodness Arthur's never seen eyes that blue. They remind him of the evening sky, or the color of the lake near the castle when it nears winter. But no, no, he has other things to focus on.

"I-I don't know," Merlin says, voice breaking as he answers him. His eyes are wild, almost desperate, darting all over Arthur’s face as though he is searching for something. Arthur refuses to let any of his emotions show and merely glares. He watches Merlin shrink in on himself, trying to make himself as small as possible. Arthur's realizes that he's scaring him, but he doesn't relent - won’t until he finally knows what in the world is going on.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Arthur demands, because really, Merlin can't expect him to believe that he showed up in a mirror right in the heart of Camelot accidentally. Arthur's not stupid.

"I don't remember anything! Why don't I remember anything?!" Merlin's hands fly to his hair, fingers curling around the dark locks and tugging. He must be hurting himself, pulling on his hair in such a violent manner, but he doesn't seem to be about to stop anytime soon. His eyes go back to darting around Arthur's chambers, just as wild as they were a few seconds ago. His breathing quickens, chest rising and falling unevenly, and Arthur knows from his own past experiences that Merlin must be starting to get lightheaded. That is, if a reflection can even get lightheaded.

"Calm down," he says. Then, in a softer tone, adds, "Breathe." He watches as Merlin struggles to obey, but it doesn't seem to be working. Arthur reaches forward to touch the mirror, hoping that maybe he'll somehow be able to touch Merlin through it. He tries not to be disappointed when the pads of his fingers come into contact with only the cold silver and their own reflection.

"Hey," he tries again. "Look at me."

Merlin's eyes dart up and he's oh so pale by now and Arthur is actually starting to worry that he'll pass out.

"Do as I do." Arthur takes a loud, exaggerated breath, holds it in for a second, then lets it out. After a few repeats, Merlin starts trying to mimic him, and within a few minutes his breathing finally evens out into some semblance of normality. Arthur watches him as he jerkily untangles his fingers from his hair and brings his shaking hands to his chest. He's not sure what to do. He's never been in a situation like this before and he has no idea how to react. On the one hand, he doesn't want to do anything that would make Merlin panic, but on the other, he wants to know! He wants to know who exactly Merlin is and how he ended up in the mirror and most of all he wants to know about magic. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, and the King will be furious if he ever finds out, but Arthur wants to know what it is about sorcery that is so evil that it corrupts even the kindest of souls.

"Are you feeling better?" Arthur asks. Merlin jerks his head in a nod. He doesn't look up, though. He keeps his gaze on Arthur's chest. He still looks terrified, and Arthur surprisingly finds himself wanting to put Merlin's mind to rest.

"It's fine. Nobody is going to hurt you here. You're alright." And as he speaks, he finds these words to be true. Arthur wouldn't call the guards to take Merlin away. He selfishly doesn't want Merlin to be taken away. This is the first time in a long time that he is able to choose who he interacts with. He gets to choose _Merlin_. It is unlike any of his previous interactions with children his age, who always treat him as the Prince instead of just Arthur. While it's usually good, because someone of his status deserves such special treatment, it gets very tiring after a while. He never gets to act like himself, always having to put up a front. With Merlin, maybe he won't have to. He wants to have that, even if only for a little while.

"You're not going to tell anyone?" Merlin whispers. His voice is so quiet that Arthur almost doesn't hear him at first, thinks he imagined it, but when Merlin finally looks up he realizes that it isn't his imagination feeding him words, but the boy in his mirror.

Arthur shakes his head and tries to muster up a smile. Merlin ducks his head again.

"You know where you are, of course?" he says, because really, Merlin should, and he is very surprised when Merlin shakes his head 'no'.

"This is Camelot. You're in Camelot." Arthur would ask how Merlin ended in the mirror in the first place, but he has the feeling that even if he asks, Merlin won't know the answer.

"My mum. I-I want my m-mum," Merlin whimpers. Arthur frowns. He's never had a mother, and he doesn't understand why the other children always run to theirs for comfort. The King has always told him that he has to face his fears head on, that he cannot hide behind someone else, that he cannot rely too much on others, but has to take care of whatever's bothering him by himself.

In this aspect, it seems that Merlin is his complete opposite.

But it makes him just like all of the other children in Camelot.

The words serve only to ascertain Arthur that Merlin isn't a threat, magic or no. It hasn't managed to corrupt him yet. He is certain that it will, in due time, because the King has been telling him so for as long as he can remember and the King is never wrong. This way, at least, Arthur can keep an eye on him, and when he sees Merlin do evil he can take care of it himself.

He can finally make the King proud.

"She's not here," he deadpans, frowning as the first tears make their way down Merlin's cheeks. Arthur doesn't know how to deal with tears.

"Can you..." he starts, but hesitates. He's not entirely sure what he wants to ask. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, filled only with the sound of Merlin's quiet sobs, Arthur finally settles on, "Can you get out of there?"

He isn't sure how magic works, still doesn't know whether Merlin is actually in the mirror, or whether it's just a window they can see each other through.

"I do-I don't know," Merlin manages in-between sobs. "I don't know how I got here! Mother is always telling me not to do anything that could get me into trouble and I promise I was good! I didn't do anything!" Merlin's words are coming faster with each passing moment and he seems to once again be on the verge of hysteria. Arthur promptly drops the sword he's been holding on to all this time so that he can raise both hands and try to call Merlin down once again.

"It's alright, you didn't do anything wrong," Arthur says because he would do anything just to get Merlin to finally stop crying. Even lie, it would seems, because by using this sorcery, whatever it is, Merlin is breaking the law, and if anyone finds out about this Merlin will be killed without a second thought and it would most certainly _not_ be alright. Still, Arthur's softly-spoken words get Merlin to quiet down.

"You're really not going to kill me?" Merlin asks, looking up at Arthur through his dark lashes, scared to hope. "I've never hurt anyone, I promise!" Arthur shushes him the moment his voice starts to the rise again.

"Yes, really." What to say, what to say... Arthur's not sure how Merlin will react to anything he asks anymore, and he really cannot bear the thought of seeing any more tears roll down his cheeks. 'Boys aren't supposed to show their emotions,' the King is always saying. It may be part of the reason he is reluctant to deal with Merlin's weeping.

"I'm Arthur," he says, because he needs to take Merlin's mind off the situation. "I'm the Prince of Camelot," he adds after a moment of hesitation. Merlin's eyes widen considerably and he stares at Arthur as though he's seeing him in a new light.

Probably not a good light, considering Arthur's the son of a man who would have Merlin executed, uncaring of the fact that he's still just a mere child.

Arthur can see Merlin's muscles tense, and watches as he starts backing away. Arthur reaches his hand out and yells, "Wait," because there are still so many things he wants to know and Merlin is the only one who can provide him with answers to at least some of his questions (he doesn't fool himself into thinking that Merlin knows everything).

Then, it's like Merlin hits a wall. Arthur sees him try to move his leg back, even going so far as to kick out, but it's of no use - he cannot go any further, and Arthur sees him sink to the floor and bury his head in his knees, which are pulled up to his chest, and it is only now that Arthur notices the clothes he's wearing. They're a stark contrast to his own, which are made of the most expensive and beautiful fabrics gold can buy. Merlin's are ragged and torn. His breeches are too short and his tunic has _at least_ three holes. The only things that aren't in a sorry state are his boots, which, while obviously not new, seem well cared for.

Merlin raises his hands and places them on his head, tangling his fingers in his hair.

Arthur finds himself getting annoyed. How many times does he have to repeat that it's alright (even though it might not be) before Merlin finally manages to calm down long enough for them to try to make some kind of sense of whatever's happening here?

"Stop acting like such a girl, Merlin!" Arthur says, frowning at him again. "Aren't you a little too old to be crying so much?" Not that Arthur would know how that works. He himself hasn't cried in a long, long time. Not since the King got mad at him for doing so when he was, what? Four? He still remembers that day as if it were only yesterday. It had been his birthday, and despite the King doing his best to celebrate it, he hadn't quite managed to pretend be to happy. The night had ended with him getting a bit too drunk on the wine that had been served at the banquet and shouting something about the Queen's death and how it was all because of sorcery.

To this day, Arthur doesn't know which sentence it had been that had made him burst into tears, but he knows that it had had something to do with the fact that it had been his birthday and he hadn't wanted the King to be sad. The next thing he knew, the King had grabbed him by the shoulders and was shaking him and telling him to stop because that was not how boys should behave, especially heirs to the throne of the greatest kingdom in all the land. He'd eventually been pulled away by one of the Knights, and Arthur's nursemaid had come to take him back to his chambers.

He hadn't gotten any sleep at all that night. He dimly recalls lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, thinking about what the King had said, until his nursemaid had come to wake him up in the morning.

"I'm only six!" Merlin shouts angrily. "I can cry if I want to!" Anger is better. Anger, Arthur can deal with.

But... Merlin is only six years old? That's far younger than Arthur expected. Merlin slowly stands back up. He is very tall for a child of six. Not as tall as Arthur, not even close, but it makes him seem older than he really is.

"I'm nine," Arthur replies. He turns around to ascertain one more time that Merlin isn’t there, because his reflection in the mirror seems so real and it's _still_ hard for Arthur to believe that there's no-one in his room beside him.

"So what?" Merlin demands. "Do you always introduce yourself to people you're going to kill?"

Arthur has to resist the urge to slap him upside the head since that isn't possible in this situation, and hitting the mirror would only hurt Arthur.

"You are such an idiot! Haven't I already told you take no-one is going to hurt you? Does anything at all get through that thick skull of yours?!" he shouts. It's funny how they can go from being reasonable human beings to shouting matches in a manner of seconds, but Arthur isn't complaining. It is, surprisingly, fun. No-one has ever dared to shout back at him.

"You're such a prat!" Merlin shouts back, and Arthur feels giddy laughter well up in his chest.

The servants would all die of heart attacks if they ever saw him being treated like this, but Arthur finds that he himself doesn't mind as much as he probably should. He knows that he has a goofy grin on his face, but he can't help it. It's worth it when he sees Merlin hesitantly smile back.

Arthur hears the door to his chambers open. The maidservant must be coming back. He suddenly breaks out into a cold sweat. If she comes in, she'll see Merlin. She'll tell the King, and the King will kill him, and Arthur very selfishly doesn't want Merlin to be killed, but he doesn't know what to do.

"Hide," he tells Merlin, who looks to be just as frightened as Arthur is.

"How? _Where?_ " he asks, and Arthur is out of his depth. He doesn't know. He has no idea what to do to keep Merlin from being seen, but the maidservant is getting closer. Becoming more desperate by the second, he throws up his hands.

"I don't know! Figure it out!" he whispers furiously. Merlin, in turn, glares at him. Arthur watches as he walks around the reflection of his chambers in the hopes that maybe it would be possible to hide that way. Arthur wonders whether Merlin can actually interact with anything. Oh, well. He'll find out eventually.

Provided, of course, that Merlin doesn't get himself killed beforehand. He turns around when he hears footsteps behind him and sees the maidservant walking over to the washbasin with two buckets of steaming water. She's readying his bath.

He looks back in to see Merlin disappear under his bed, just in time, because the maidservant has gotten close enough to be able to see the reflection in the mirror.

"My Lord? Is something the matter?" the maidservant asks when she sees him. "You look a bit pale."

"No, I'm fine," Arthur replies. She gets back to work. Arthur watches her, searching for the smallest sign that she saw something she wasn't supposed to see.

He finds nothing. There is no tremor to her hands, no frown marring her face - nothing. She didn't see Merlin.

Arthur sighs. Just how long can he keep something like this a secret? Should he even be keeping something like this a secret?

A part of him, one that is growing larger by the second tells him, 'No'. The King would be disappointed. Arthur is fraternizing with the enemy.

But on the other hand, Merlin hasn't done anything. He hasn't threatened Arthur, he hasn't threatened Camelot; he just showed up, looking far more terrified than any child Arthur has ever seen before in his life, and Arthur, for some reason he cannot fathom, feels a connection with him.

He doesn't think he'll be able to give Merlin up.

The first real scare comes a few years later, when Arthur is fourteen and Merlin is eleven. Over the last few years they've gotten to know each other very well and Arthur easily considers Merlin to be his best friend. Not that he would tell him that, of course. There is no need to make him feel more important than he already does.

They still don't know how Merlin ended up in Arthur's mirror in the first place, because Merlin hasn't remembered anything besides going to sleep in his bed in Ealdor one night (and wasn't Arthur surprised to learn that Merlin trusts him enough to tell him where he'd lived) and waking up on the floor of Arthur's bedroom the next. Or, well, the reflection of Arthur's bedroom.

Arthur doesn't think he'll ever manage to make sense of how it all works.

On the other hand, he has managed to find out quite a lot about magic, and he's started questioning some things the King has told him. It's treason to the Crown, he knows, but after knowing Merlin for so long and seeing him use magic to do some minor spells in the mirror-world (because yes, that's what Arthur is calling it), he's begun to see the beauty that can be magic. The good in it.

Not just the evil, as he'd been taught.

The King is always saying that magic corrupts, but Merlin is just about the kindest soul Arthur has ever met, and he finds it hard to believe that that could ever change. Still, it has been indoctrinated in him and he keeps a careful eye on Merlin despite their friendship. Just in case.

The day has been a long one. The Knights caught a sorceress sometime around midday, a Druid, and the King is currently occupied with her trial. Of course, by now Arthur knows that the trials aren't anything but a formality - the woman who used magic is bound to be burned at the stake, no matter what she says to defend herself. There is no escape once you are accused.

Arthur is scared that if he isn't careful enough, the same thing will one day happen to Merlin.

He is not required to see the executions just yet. He is still young, and despite him being a Prince and a future Knight, the King doesn't want Arthur there. One day, yes, but not yet. He is allowed to stay within the confines of his chambers during the executions.

Arthur doesn't watch from his window, opting to avoid the sight of such a cruel and unjust death altogether, but he can't drown out the woman's screams as the flames slowly swallow up her body and lead to an agonizing death. He tries lying down on his bed and covering his ears with pillows - even burrows under the blankets, but it doesn't work. He can still hear every single sound she makes and it hurts. He doesn't know why, but it hurts. It feels as though there's something clutching at his heart and refusing to let go. The sorceress shouldn't have to die like this; tied to a stake with a crowd of strangers watching her breathe her last breaths.

He almost doesn't hear Merlin when he calls for him. It is only when he hears his name for the fifth time that he realizes that he isn't imagining things and shakily sits up, holding back the tears that burn at his eyes. Spending so much time with Merlin has made him far more emotional, he knows. He’s not entirely sure that that’s a good thing.

"What?" Arthur manages to croak out, feeling as though there is something lodged deep in his throat. He sees Merlin in the mirror, which is standing across from his bed on top of a dressing table he doesn't even know why he has, but it's been there for as long as he can remember and he wouldn't be able to bear seeing it removed, especially considering that it was the only place he can find Merlin.

Merlin is watching him sadly. On second thought, sadly might be too weak a word. He is crestfallen. Arthur had told him what was going on, and he instantly burst into tears and refused Arthur's pleas for him to do any sort of magic at all, which Arthur thought might distract him - distract them both.

He knows that, to this day, Merlin is worried Arthur will give him up. He is scared that one day, something will happen that will make Arthur change his stance on the topic, and he doesn't believe Arthur when he says otherwise.

Arthur knows because Merlin told him so.

"It'll be alright," Merlin is saying, although the words aren’t quite making it to Arthur's brain. "Everything's going to be fine." And all of a sudden, Arthur knows why it hurts so much to think about the execution - instead of the woman, he sees Merlin tied to the stake, wailing in agony as the flames lick at his calves, blistering and burning and hurting; it is Merlin's face streaming with tears as his body is irreparably destroyed and his life sucked from him.

He sees a child, innocent of sin, die like a filthy criminal.

"Tell me a story," Arthur pleads. He wants something that will take his mind off what is happening in the courtyard below, and Merlin tells the best stories.

Though that opinion may stem from the fact that he's never heard anyone else tell stories before.

Merlin watches him quietly for a moment and reaches out to touch Arthur's shoulder. The magic feels welcome now. It's warm and conveys everything Merlin is unable to put into words. It feels like home. Merlin starts speaking, and before long, Arthur feels himself sink into the caress of magic.

He doesn't even realize that he had fallen asleep when the door to his chambers bursts open. The King, accompanied by two Knights and a few guards, storms in. He looks absolutely livid, and Arthur's heart stops in his chest, thinking that it's his fault. He must have gone and disappointed him, because there is no fathomable reason Arthur can think of for the King to come in like this, unannounced and surrounded by so many people.

His blood runs cold when the thought that the King may have found out about Merlin crosses his mind. But no, no, that's impossible because he is always ever so careful that there is no way in the world someone could have seen or even heard Merlin.

"What's going on?" Arthur asks, doing his best to try to keep his voice from shaking. The King is looking straight at him, but the Knights and guards have dispersed around his chambers and are making a mess of his rooms. They’re tossing the books off the shelves, opening drawers and wardrobes and throwing all of his clothes out, and eventually even move to see if there’s anything under the bed. They're clearly looking for something, and Arthur's heart stops in his chest when, out of the corner of his eye, he registers movement in the mirror. He quickly stands up and walks forward to subtly put himself between it and the King.

The King glances around the rooms once, twice, before his eyes finally return to rest on Arthur.

"The Druid sorceress claimed that there are items of magical origin in the Castle." Arthur's knees are close to buckling under him when he realizes that they don't know about Merlin specifically, but they know that there's something in the castle and they won't rest till they find it.

"I'm sure I would have noticed any magical items in my chambers," he says, raising his eyebrows. The King, however, is not satisfied.

"You would not have noticed if you were under its influence," the King exclaims. He pushes past Arthur and walks over the the dressing table. Arthur tries to keep his breathing under control when the King starts looking through all the numerous drawers one by one. He risks a quick glance up at the mirror. Merlin is no-where in sight. He must have hidden himself when Arthur distracted the King.

Arthur supposes that he is lucky that no one had seen him look. Thankfully, they are all too preoccupied with searching through his things to pay much attention to what he is doing.

He goes to sit down on his bed, which had already been inspected. The pillows are in disarray and then covers are crumpled on the floor near the foot of the bed.

Arthur is angry. While he understands the reasoning behind their actions, they could at least be a bit more careful with his things. These are his belongings they are throwing around, and despite the fact that he’s not going to be the one to have to put everything back in its place later he dislikes them being in such disarray.

He sits on his bed, observing all the people as they decimate his chambers. It lasts only a few more minutes before the King orders they are leave and search the rest of the Castle. Arthur follows them out, closes the door, and waits for the footsteps to cease before finally going over to the mirror.

"Merlin?" he whispers, searching the reflection for any signs of movement. It's not long before Arthur sees a mop of black hair pop out from under his bed. He sighs in relief.

"They've gone," he says, and Merlin pushes himself out from under Arthur's bed.

"They're looking for me," Merlin says, eyes wide and filled other tears. "Why are they looking for me?!" He asks, voice rising by an octave. Arthur's has never been one for physical contact, but there is nothing he wants to do more than to hug Merlin - Merlin, who is shaking and staring at him wide-eyed. He's so young, and already he is being hunted for something he was born with; something that is not his fault.

It is when Arthur is fourteen that he first notices the cruelty in the King's rule, and vows to himself that he _will_ be different.

The King doesn't find anything that day, nor on any of the ones succeeding it.

The King's teachings are hard to forget, though, and Arthur still finds himself unnerved by the presence of sorcerers whenever they're brought in for trial. He doesn't understand why that is. He's alright with Merlin despite sometimes seeing Merlin using magic practically on a daily basis. He's seen it used in ways that don't hurt anyone, yet he's still unwilling to accept anyone that isn't Merlin.

Sometimes, he wishes that Merlin could break out of that mirror and just be there with him. He's tried looking for a way to get him out, but there is only so much he can do - there are no books on magic around, haven’t been since it was outlawed, and to go searching for a sorcerer would equate to treason.

Besides, it's not as though any magic-user would want to help him.

He thinks that the best chance he has would be with the Druids. They're a peaceful people, although the King would do anything in his power to see them dead.

Arthur wishes he knew. He hates seeing Merlin in the mirror, knowing that he's all alone in that world. He doesn't have anyone to talk to besides Arthur, and most of the time Arthur is busy with his duties. They don't have the time to talk as much as they used to when they were younger, not since Arthur turned seventeen.

The King has started looking at potential wives for Arthur, and while Arthur understands that it is his duty to marry and ensure the future prosperity of the Pendragon line and the Kingdom of Camelot, he is reluctant to wed someone he has no feelings for.

Gods, he really has been spending too much time around Merlin.

"Arthur!" Arthur swirls around to face the King. The King is smiling at him, which is something that he been happening less and less often these days.

"Yes, Father?" he asks, but he thinks that he already knows what this conversation is going to be about, probably because lately, most of their conversations are on the same topic - Arthur's marriage.

"Lord Godwyn and Princess Elena will arrive in a matter of hours. You should go get prepared," he says. Arthur takes that to mean that he should wear his best clothes and have his hair arranged to look more tamed than it usually does (although that's all Merlin's fault - it's him Arthur worries about all the time, which leads to his recently acquired bad habit of running his fingers through his hair far too often for his liking).

"Of course, Father," Arthur replies. Merlin will laugh at him. He'll never let Arthur live this down, he knows. He's always found the way Arthur dresses to be hilarious, and Arthur has no doubt that it's going to be the same way now - worse, even, when he realizes that it's all going to be done to impress a girl (and her father, but mostly the girl - Elena, he thinks is her name).

He is partially right. When he arrives in his chambers and tells Merlin about the situation and how he will have to wear his most fancy clothes (the ones which restrict his movement and which he, in turn, hates), Merlin laughs, just as Arthur knew he would. What surprises him is how forced Merlin's laughter sounds. He doesn't question it though. Maybe Merlin is having a bad day. He's been having those more and more often lately, and no matter how Arthur tries to help, he finds himself unable to do anything but watch his best friend withdraw into himself.

He knows that Merlin is lonely; that he's suffering, but there is nothing he can do about that. He can't imagine what it is like to have to live in a world all by yourself. Arthur's constantly surrounded by people. Granted, he's not overly close with any one of them, but at least he gets to interact with them. Other than him, Merlin has no-one. His days are filled with emptiness when Arthur's not around.

Arthur saddens when he realizes that his marriage would mean more of that - spending less time with Merlin. He doesn't want to spend even less time with Merlin. Some days, it feels like Merlin is the only person he can talk to, like he's the only one who actually understands him, and isn't that ironic considering he's just a peasant.

Besides, he doesn't need nor want anyone else. He's never met Elena, but he knows already that he wouldn't give up Merlin for her, nor for anyone else.

Arthur is about to walk over to the big table in the middle of the room to get a drink of water from the jug his manservant left him when he suddenly feels himself pulled back to the mirror with magic. Arthur turns to look at Merlin and raises an eyebrow in question.

Merlin is avoiding his gaze, but he withdraws the magic.

"Wear the red jacket," he says. Arthur nods and turns to walk away.

Away from Merlin and magic and the world of secrets he's been living in since he was nine, and into the world of nobility where he should be.

Needless to say, it doesn’t work out. Neither he nor the Princess Elena want to marry without love, and while they get along splendidly, neither of them can see it turning into anything more.

The King is furious.

It's when he's nineteen that the impossible happens. A sorcerer manages to infiltrate the castle.

At least, that is what the King believes. His Knights and guards are out searching for the threat that managed to get into the Lady Morgana's chambers.

Arthur knows better than to go help them, but only because Merlin told him what had really happened. He'd realized a while back that he is capable of detecting magical presences in the castle, and he knew that nobody had been in Morgana's chambers except for her.

"But how is that possible?" Arthur had asked. "Surely someone must have used magic! The candle lit up by itself and the glass of the windows were laying outside in the courtyard!" He had been shocked then; scared that something could have happened to Morgana with him none the wiser, and he was the one who was supposed to protect her.

"Because it was her, Arthur. Morgana has magic," Merlin had explained. Arthur had been furious that Merlin could even suggest such a thing - this was Morgana they were talking about! She is as close to a sister as he has. It had taken a while for him to calm down after that, but Merlin had finally managed to get through to him and explain.

Now, he is standing in front of the door to Morgana's chambers, which he figures the servants must have cleaned up by now. He is hesitant to knock. He's already raised his hand to do so at least five times, but always ended up dropping it again.

The door opens on its own.

Well, not really on its own, because Guinevere is standing there, holding the doorknob, but Arthur doesn’t notice her at first glance.

They both stand still for a few seconds, doing nothing but staring at each other, before Arthur finally steps to the side to let her pass. Guinevere seems to snap out of her shock at seeing him and quickly curtsies, mumbling a hurried, “ Your Highness." She drops her eyes to the floor and immediately walks away, carrying a tray with what is probably Morgana’s breakfast.

Untouched breakfast, because the tray is still full.

Arthur hesitates for a second longer, but then braces himself and pushes the door open the rest of the way. The hinges squeak, alerting Morgana to his presence, and Arthur makes a mental note to tell someone to lubricate them.

Morgana is sitting on her bed, elbows on her knees and face in her hands. Her hair is uncharacteristically messy, and she is still wearing her dressing gown. Arthur wonders if he should maybe leave and come back later, but in the end decides to stay. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other in more compromising wear before. He even recalls one memorable time when Morgana caught him naked not too long ago.

They don’t have anything to hide, not from each other.

Or, they shouldn’t.

Arthur takes a few more steps into the room. Morgana doesn’t acknowledge him until he sits down beside her on the bed. When she turns to look at him, her eyes are dull and have deep, dark bags under her eyes. She’s pale, and Arthur can see the tear streaks on her cheeks. This, more than anything else, alerts him to the fact that something is wrong. He’s never seen Morgana cry. Not once.

Wordlessly, Arthur wraps one of his arms around her. Morgana stiffens, but eventually relaxes into the loose embrace. She leans into him, hiding her face in the collar of his tunic. He feels it get wet with her tears, but doesn’t comment, just holds her close. She needs this, the close contact. They both do.

Arthur doesn’t know how long they sit there. At one point, a servant comes into the room, but Arthur sends him away with a dull glare and a shake of his head. Eventually, Morgana calms.

“I’m a mess,” she says, and Arthur doesn’t even have the strength to deny it. She is. This whole situation is a mess. One big mess that couldn’t possibly have been avoided, not if everything Merlin had told him about magic over the years is true.

“It’s alright,” he says, “It’s fine.” The words bring with them the memory of one day, so many years ago, when he’d said the exact same thing to Merlin. On the day Morgana had first arrived in Camelot.

Morgana still doesn’t move away from him, but chuckles humorlessly.

“It’s really not,” she states.

“It really is,” Arthur presses. He cannot imagine what is going through her head at this moment in time, but knows that it cannot be anything good. He imagines she must be terrified. This is an emotion he never thought he would see in Morgana. Morgana, who’s always been fearless and brave, more so than so many of the Knights. She doesn’t deserve to go through this. Arthur doesn’t want her to go through this.

At least she won’t have to go through it alone.

Arthur sees as Morgana attempts to smile, but it falls flat. There is no humour in this situation.

“I promise, it’s fine. I know,” he says. He feels Morgana stiffen once again, but when she tries to pull away he doesn’t let her.

“What are you talking about?” she asks uncertainly, and if Arthur listens hard enough he can hear the small tremor in her voice.

“It’s alright. I won’t tell anyone,” he reassures her again, trying to keep his own voice from shaking. He’s no good at this… this whole _thing_ with emotions. He wishes that Merlin were here - he would know what to do.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Morgana says, but her voice has gone cold and now Arthur knows for certain that Merlin is right about the magic.

“I’m not going to tell him, Morgana.” While Arthur doesn’t really think that the King would have Morgana executed, he doubts that he would take it well. Arthur won’t risk it, not yet.

Maybe not ever.

“Tell him what?” Morgana asks, but Arthur can hear the resignation in her voice. She knows that he knows what really happened. Neither of them say anything for a while after this. Arthur just listens to her breathing, so loud in the otherwise silent room. No one else has come to disturb them yet, but it’s only a matter of time before someone does.

“How?” Morgana finally asks. She seems much calmer now that she seems to have accepted that Arthur won’t be revealing her secret to anyone.

“A friend,” Arthur answers. Morgana snorts and raises one eyebrow at him.

“You have friends?” she teases weakly. Some other time, Arthur may have teased back, but not now. Not until they somehow settle this situation and dissipate the remnants of the tension in the room.

‘Just the one’, Arthur wants to say, but he refrains from it because it’s not true. He has other friends. There’s Sir Leon and Princess Elena. None of them come close to Merlin, though.

“You should meet him,” Arthur says, making a spur-of-the-moment decision. It will help to put Morgana’s mind to rest, and maybe Merlin might even be able to teach her a thing or two about magic. She needs the guidance. It wouldn’t do to have her chambers catch fire again - someone would eventually get suspicious, and the King might figure out that something is wrong.

Or, well, more wrong than he thinks.

Arthur stands up, tugging Morgana up with him. She just stands in front of him, looking at him questioningly, but Arthur doesn’t elaborate.

“Get dressed. Fix your hair,” Arthur says. Morgana glares at him for daring to order her around, but after a few seconds nothing short of a small miracle happens and she actually does as he tells her.

Arthur has a bad feeling that he’s going to come to regret his words sometime in the future.

A few minutes later, when Morgana is ready, Arthur leads the way to his own chamber. Servants look at them questioningly as they pass by, but none of them say anything. They know better than that.

Arthur holds the door open for Morgana and lets her enter first. She walks in quickly and goes to sit on his bed. Arthur, meanwhile, chases out his manservant (his name is George, and while he is by far the most efficient servant he’s ever had, the man is a complete bore).

(Merlin doesn’t like him either.)

When the room is empty of people save for Morgana and himself, he turns to the mirror that, even after all this time, is still standing on his dressing table.

“Well?” Morgana asks from behind him. Arthur ignores her. He gazes into the mirror, looking for any sign of Merlin.

“Merlin?” Arthur calls out quietly. He can almost feel the confusion radiating from Morgana. “Merlin? There’s someone who needs to talk to you.”

A head full of unkempt raven locks pops up from the other side of the bed almost immediately.

"Hmmm?" Merlin asks, tilting his head to the side as he tends to do when he's confused. Arthur knows the exact moment he realises that there is someone else in the room because Merlin's eyes widen and he takes half a step back, as though he has half a mind to take off and hide.

"This is Morgana," Arthur says, gesturing toward her. She is still sitting on the bed and her eyes are just as wide as Merlin's. For the first (and probably last) time in his life, Arthur sees Morgana become speechless.

Arthur gets fed up with the staring a few moments later when it becomes clear that neither Merlin nor Morgana is listening to him.

He clears his throat, and they both jump a metre into the air.

“You were right. Morgana has magic,” Arthur says once Merlin’s eyes are one him again.

Merlin’s smirk is full of smug self-satisfaction.

“When have I _ever_ been wrong?” he asks. Arthur puts his finger to his lips, pretending to think for a moment.

“Well, there was that one time you were convinced that that one servant was secretly a - what did you call it? Ghoul?” Merlin quickly shushes him, waving his hands in the air.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” His cheeks are a furious red, and he’s avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

It is then that Morgana speaks.

“What is going on here?” Morgana asks, bewildered. “Who is he? _What_ is he?”

“This is Merlin. He can help you with your… you know.” Arthur clears his throat. “With your magic.” He says this despite the fact that he’s not certain about it. Merlin himself doesn’t seem to know a lot about magic. He has no knowledge of where it comes from and he doesn’t know a single spell. All of the magic he does is instinctual.

Still, it’s the best Morgana’s going to get. At least neither of them are going to be alone with this. For the first time in a decade, Merlin is going to be able to interact with someone other than Arthur. It’ll be good for him.

That does nothing to quell the irrational wave of jealousy that’s beginning to spread through him at the thought of Merlin spending time with someone other than him.

“But he’s just a child!” Morgana exclaims, waving her arms around frantically.

“He’s the only person I know who has magic,” Arthur explains, ignoring Merlin’s indignant protests to being called a child. Morgana looks into the mirror dubiously. Arthur knows that Merlin may not look like much (he _is_ only 16) but he has magic, and from what Arthur has seen in all the years he’s known him, his magic isn’t weak, either.

“It’s the best I can do,” Arthur says, because it is. Other than sending Morgana to the Druids, there is no-one that he knows who can help her, and judging by what happened this morning, she at the very _least_ needs help controlling her magic so that such accidents do not happen again.

Morgana still doesn’t look convinced. Arthur sighs.

“Merlin, show her,” he demands. Merlin glares at him for daring to order him around, but does as he’s told. _For once._ Arthur would crow with delight and tease Merlin relentlessly if the situation was not so serious.

Merlin’s eyes shine a vivid, molten gold.

All of a sudden, a gust picks up in Arthur’s chambers. His bed and window curtains start swinging wildly and snow starts falling from the ceiling. Morgana looks mesmerised by the flakes as they twirl in the air around them and covering every visible surface with white in a matter of seconds.

Arthur slams his hand against his forehead.

“This is not what I meant! Look at this mess, _Mer_ lin! What if someone comes in here? It’s the middle of summer!” Arthur yells because really, Merlin should know better by now. “Get rid of this!” Merlin merely blinks at him innocently out of the mirror. Well, it would appear to be innocent to anyone other than Arthur, because Arthur knows him too well - just as he knows that Merlin did this on purpose.

“I’m sorry, My Lord,” he says, “But I’m afraid I don’t know how. You’ll just have to gather it into buckets and throw it out yourself. Quickly now, before it melts. We wouldn’t want you to sleep in a wet bed, now would we?” Behind him, Morgana snickers. Arthur has to fight not to turn around and scowl at her instead.

“Oh, I like him,” Morgana grins. Arthur never thought he’d feel so relieved to hear her teasing tone of voice again.

Merlin grins back.

They spend the rest of the day in Arthur’s chambers, first trying their hand at cleaning (Merlin laughs at them all the while), then talking about magic and how Merlin ended up in the mirror (which they still don’t have an answer to; this is the moment Arthur changes the topic because talking about it always makes Merlin one part irritated and two parts despondent). Servants come and go. They bring Arthur and Morgana food, and at one point George even tries to clean the room, visibly appalled by the state it is in but asking no questions as to how it ended up like that. Arthur sends him away with one sour look and ignores his whimpering and pleading glances. When George _finally_ leaves after a few annoying minutes, Merlin pops up from his hiding place, irritated (and with some dust in his hair, though only the gods know how that got there), and makes them laugh by saying that if George loves cleaning so much, he should just marry a broom.

It turns out to be some of the most fun Arthur has had in ages, and if anyone wants to complain about him being ‘alone’ with Morgana for so long, then they can whine all they want. He doesn’t care. Maybe it’s because of the relief stemming from having told someone about Merlin’s existence, or maybe it’s something else entirely.

At least now he’ll have someone to help him get Merlin out.

Before she leaves, Morgana leans forward to kiss him on the cheek.

“I can see why you’re so set against getting a wife, now,” she whispers into his ear. She moves away, leaving Arthur standing there, confused, and shoots one last grin in Merlin’s direction before she exits Arthur’s chambers in a flurry of skirts.

To say that the King is unhappy about them spending the whole day holed up in Arthur’s chambers would be an understatement. The next morning, presumably right after finding out about how exactly he and Morgana had spent the previous day, the King barges into his chambers. Merlin barely has the time to run for cover before the King is up in Arthur’s face, shouting and lecturing about responsibility and propriety. He goes on about political alliances and Arthur’s duty to Camelot and tells him that his behavior will absolutely not be tolerated.

The only thing going through Arthur’s head at the time is, _Damn propriety_.

It does not occur to him to ask why the King is so angry that he’s spending time with Morgana of all people, when he’d always been the one saying they should spend more time together and get along.

A year passes. Then another, and one more after that, and suddenly Arthur is twenty-two years old.

On this particular day, he is leading a patrol of Knights. There’d been news about a terrifying creature burning the land wherever it went, and the King had told Arthur to stop it.

Merlin is nineteen. He isn’t free yet, but he and Arthur had come up with a way for him to move from one mirror to the next. It took a bit of experimenting, and quite a few pillows and vases were destroyed in the process, but Merlin eventually managed to get it down. Right now, he is in an intricately decorated hand mirror in Arthur’s satchel because he’d demanded to be brought along.

They didn’t spend much time apart these days, and Arthur would have brought him along regardless. For some unbeknownst to him reason, Arthur likes Merlin’s company far more than that of his Knights - not that he’d tell him that.

Arthur had told Merlin about the monster. The witnesses - the very few who had miraculously managed to survive their encounter with the creature - had described it as a giant, fire-breathing thing with two heads. Merlin suspects it to be a chimera.

It isn’t hard to find it. All they have to do is follow the trail of destruction the monster left in its wake. The meadows and forests have all been scorched, houses everywhere have been burnt to the ground and are no more than piles of debris, and charred corpses litter the ground.

They find the chimera in the middle of the last wreckage they come across. It lies on the ground, chewing on something that may have at one point been an animal, but it is too hard to tell. Arthur motions for his Knights to fall back before the creature notices them. It proves to be futile the moment the chimera raises one of its heads - the one resembling a lion - and sniffs at the air. It is on its feet in an instant, poised to lunge at where it knows they are hiding.

Arthur doesn’t know what to do at first. This is the first time he’s come so close to such a dangerous creature - creature of _magic_ \- and the sheer alarm he feels is enough to make him freeze in his tracks.

It’s only when the chimera finally throws itself toward them that Arthur orders his men to move.

“Scatter!” he shouts, diving to the ground. The chimera jumps right over him, missing him by a scant few inches. Arthur scrambles to get up and unsheathe his sword so that he’ll have some way to defend himself. He’s barely managed to get a grip on the hilt before the creature pounces again, this time striking him in the shoulder with its paw.

Arthur grits his teeth against the pain, and ignores the agony pulsing through his shoulder, blood seeping from the injury, down his arm, to the ground.

The first real wave of fear comes when he realizes that the chimera’s struck his sword arm and he’s left with no way to defend himself. He looks up from the wound to get his eyes back on the chimera. One of the Knights is standing in front of it, batting away the monster’s incredibly sharp claws with his sword.

He doesn’t last ten seconds.

The chimera overpowers him and slashes its razor-sharp claws through his throat. Arthur, however, doesn’t hear the choking sounds coming from the Knight over the blood pounding in his ears. He hears something else altogether. A voice as ancient as time itself and the sound of which sends a shiver down his spine and makes his blood turn to ice in his veins.

**_Arthur Pendragon! No-one can save you now._ **

Arthur blinks twice, terrified and confused. He has no time to ponder where the words came from before the chimera is racing toward him once again, eyes displaying too much intelligence for it to be just another mindless creature bent on sowing destruction everywhere it goes.

He tries to raise his arm, but he can’t - the pain is too great, and his arm too weak to lift the sword. Arthur makes to grab it with his other arm. He moves as quickly as he can, but when he sees the chimera opening its mouth, he knows that there is nothing he can do - that no matter how fast he runs, he won’t be able to make it out of the way of the fire that is going to spout out of the creature’s mouth any second now.

Someone shouts, “No!”, and the next thing Arthur knows, he’s looking at the back of a head of black hair.

He sees a vivid golden light and wonders if he’s already died without noticing it. A second later, the light becomes a shimmering shield, protecting him from the onslaught of flames. Arthur can do nothing other than stare, dumbstruck, as the fire assaults the shield only to be stopped in its path. Once he’s ascertained that yes, he is, in fact, still alive, he allows his eyes to flit back to the figure standing before him.

As well as the satchel and broken mirror on the ground.

The voice in his head turns into an outraged shriek.

**_Emrys!_ **

“Merlin?” he whispers, not sure whether to be delighted or shocked when the figure turns toward him with a shaky grin and it turns out that yes, it is Merlin, however impossible that seems. “How?” Arthur asks.

“I really don’t think that now’s the time for that,” Merlin replies. Arthur had almost forgotten about the situation at hand. The chimera is on the other side of the shield, which, now that Arthur is examining it more closely, is actually more of a dome encasing them rather than just being in front of them. The creature is pacing, not taking its gaze off them for a second, looking enraged. There is no sign of any of the Knights. Arthur refuses to think about how most of them might be dead.

This isn’t what was supposed to happen. He’s failed as a leader.

“What do we do now?” Merlin asks him. Arthur shakes his head, avoiding his gaze as the hopelessness of the situation finally gets to him. They stand no chance, especially now that they are the only two left. A whole _patrol_ of highly-skilled Knights couldn’t do anything - couldn’t even _injure_ the chimera. What could the two of them do?

“Arthur, please. I can’t hold this much longer,” Merlin groans.

The chimera had gone back to spewing fire at the shield. Merlin is slowly backing up towards Arthur, contracting the shield around them. Arthur can see the sweat beading on his temples and the miniscule shaking of his hands.

“I’m thinking!” he replies.

“Then think harder!” Merlin shouts back. He takes another step back and steps on the broken mirror.

“It’s a creature of magic, right?” Arthur says. “Maybe only magic can kill it!” That would certainly explain why none of the Knights’ attacks did anything. Maybe they would live through this, after all.

Merlin looks back at him and furrows his eyebrows. After a beat, he says, “It’s worth a try, but I don’t know any spells.”

“Then figure something out quickly or we’re both going to end up looking like one of Morgana’s failed cooking experiments!” Arthur shouts at him.

“Morgana’s been trying to cook?” Merlin asks, incredulous.

“ _Mer_ lin!”

“Right. Sorry. Not the time.” Merlin quickly looks around. “Is there a stream nearby?” he asks.

“Yes, towards the south. It’s not far from here. Are you-” Arthur begins, only to be interrupted.  
  
“Water trumps fire, right? We can at least do something to slow it down, if nothing else.” Merlin says, smiling at him weakly. “When I say now, run towards the stream as quickly as you can.”

“Merli-” Arthur tries to say, only to be interrupted by Merlin’s shout. He’ll need to do something about that bad habit; he hates being interrupted when he’s speaking.

Arthur ignores the fact that he’s known Merlin for over a decade and hasn’t managed to do anything about it in all that time.

He turns on his heel and runs in the direction of the stream. His steps thunder on the dry ground below, and Merlin’s are no quieter behind him. Arthur reaches out towards him with his uninjured hand, pulling Merlin closer when he grips it. Together, they run through the burnt forest as quickly as they can. Arthur can only hope that neither of them stumbles before they get there.

Someone must be watching over them because nothing happens. Not even the chimera manages to catch up with them, most likely finding it hard to move through the forest with such a large body. Before they know it, they’re up to their knees in water. Arthur turns back in the direction they came from, letting go of Merlin’s hand in the process.

“What now?” he asks. Merlin merely shakes his head. His breathing is heavy, serving to remind Arthur that he hasn’t had the opportunity to get much exercise in the past years. The run must have taken a lot out of him.

“I have no idea. I can douse the flames with the water, but…” Merlin looks at him, lost. “I don’t know what else I can do.”

“That’ll have to be enough. Distract it with the water. I still have my dagger. Once I have a clear path, I’ll attack.” Merlin bites his lip and looks like he wants to argue, but instead of saying anything, he settles on looking at the blood that’s still dripping down Arthur’s arm.

“I’ll be fine,” Arthur says, even though he knows better than to make such promises. It works, though, because Merlin nods and turns away, spreading his hands before him. They don’t have to wait long. The chimera comes bounding in a moment later. It instantly opens it’s mouth, intent on dousing them with flames, but Merlin is one step ahead of it. His eyes shine a brilliant molten gold as water comes from the stream in jets, headed directly for the creature in front of them. Removing his dagger from his belt and gripping it with his left hand, Arthur lunges to the side while the chimera tries to fend off the water to no avail.

Every spout of flames is immediately put out. Merlin gets back on dry land to avoid the chimera when it attempts to get closer, and the jets of water twist and twirl, slowly surrounding the monster. It screeches in fury. The sound is horrible - shrill and ear-splitting, and it leaves Arthur wanting to cover his ears with his hands. However, he does not have time for that. He continues circling the beast, looking for an opening as it swats its paws at the slowly-forming dome of water. He finds one when one of the jets of water hits the beast right under its chin.

When it rears up on its hind paws, leaving its chest exposed, Arthur pulls his arm back and throws the knife forward. It flies through the air, probably sped up with magic, and buries itself in the space between the monster’s ribs, lodging itself deep in its heart. The chimera roars and falls to the ground with a thud, and its eyes lock with Arthur’s own for one last time before they turn blank.

**_This isn’t the end, Pendragon!_ **

The chimera’s body heaves with one last, painful breath before it finally grows still. The water falls to the ground, instantly soaking into the dry, cracked earth.

Arthur turns to Merlin with a grin on his face.

“We did it. Merlin, we did it!” he shouts, giddy laughter bubbling up in his chest.

Except that Merlin doesn’t answer him. He’s turned away from Arthur, still looking at the beast.

Something is wrong. Arthur takes a few steps forward when Merlin suddenly sways and collapses. Arthur is by his side in an instant, cradling his immobile body to his chest. Merlin’s eyes are closed. His face is covered in blood. It’s seeping from his nose and his eyes and his ears. Arthur’s chest feels tight with fear.

“Merlin?” he asks, voice soft. Merlin doesn’t stir. Only the subtle rise and fall of his chest lets Arthur know that he’s still breathing - that he’s still alive. Arthur tears off a piece of his cape and tries to wipe some of the blood off Merlin’s face. The only thing he manages to do is to smear it more. He has half a mind to go back to the stream - it’s only a few paces away, but he’s reluctant to leave Merlin’s side, gripped by an irrational fear that something bad will happen to Merlin the moment he does.

“Sire?” someone calls. Arthur looks away for a second to see Leon stumbling in his direction.

“Leon? Thank the gods you’re still alive!” He looks a little worse for wear, with a big bruise on his forehead and deep cuts in his left thigh, but he’s still alive. “And the others?” Arthur asks, already knowing the answer. Had anyone else been alive and able, Leon would have brought them to look for Arthur.

Leon shakes his head, confirming Arthur’s thoughts.

“Dead.” Arthur’s jaw clenches and he feels tears well up in his eyes. He nods his head and turns back to Merlin, dabbing at the blood drying on his face so that he would have something to do.

“And you?” he asks, because there’s no way of knowing what other injuries Leon is hiding under his clothes.

“I’ve been better,” Leon says, offering Arthur a wan smile. His eyes dart to look at Merlin, before returning to Arthur’s own, full of questions.

“Who is he?” Leon asks. For a second, Arthur considers telling him the truth. Leon is a good friend and someone Arthur has known for years. That second passes quickly, though. As a Knight, Leon would be obligated to tell the King, and Arthur can’t let him find out about Merlin. He’s only just gotten him out of the mirror, and he can’t lose him because of his own stupidity.

“His name is Merlin. He helped me kill the chimera,” Arthur says curtly. He knows that Leon suspects that there’s more to the story, especially once he looks around to take in the surroundings - there’s patches of muddy ground amidst the scorched and a dead, wet chimera lying metres away from the stream. Leon, however, doesn’t ask any questions, offering Arthur only a small nod.

“Is he…?” Leon asks, taking a few steps forward and looking down at Merlin meaningfully.

“No!” Arthur snaps, glaring at him. When he sees Leon’s surprised expression, his gaze turns softer. “No. He’s fine.” He has to be. Arthur doesn’t know what he would do without Merlin.

Leon’s eyes dart between the two of them a few more times, before he begins walking in the direction of the stream.

“I’ll get some water,” he declares. Arthur nods his head in approval and turns his gaze back to Merlin. He’s still not moving, but the blood flow has stopped. Arthur wonders what brought this on. Did the chimera do something? Is Merlin sick? Did this happen because he left the mirror?

He needs to get back to the citadel and bring Merlin to Gaius, but before that, he and Leon need to treat their injuries.

When Leon comes back, the first thing he does is give Arthur a full waterskin. As Arthur opens his mouth to speak, Leon beats him to it.

“I’ll get the horses,” he says. Arthur nods at him gratefully. He uncorks the waterskin with his teeth and pours some water onto the cloth. He wipes it over Merlin’s face until most of the blood is gone. Arthur estimates that Leon will probably be gone for another 15 minutes at most and resolves to wait. In the meantime, he tears off one more piece of his cloak and cleans his own injury. It stings when the water seeps into it, but it will hurt a lot more if he doesn’t wash the grime and dirt away properly. Once that is done, Arthur takes a swig of the water, before pouring whatever remains on his face. It cools him down, wakes him up.

When Leon returns with the horses, Arthur takes off his cape and folds it up. He puts it under Merlin’s head when he moves him from his lap. Arthur is still reluctant to leave him on his own for even a second, but he needs to help Leon - first with his injuries, then with the bodies.

The most they can do about Leon’s head wound is to put salve on it. They do the same to the cuts, then wrap them up in bandages. Arthur once again checks Merlin over for any sign of blood, and is thankful to find none.

Then, they move on to the bodies.

There are eight of them. Despite Leon already having told him that they are all dead, Arthur puts his fingers to each man’s neck in turn, looking for a pulse. He never finds one. Together with Leon, he drapes one body over each horse, ignoring the way his arm screams its protests at his each and every movement. They tie them down so that they don’t fall off, and then Leon ties the horses’ reins together.

They are slowly making their way back to where Arthur left Merlin when he stumbles upon his satchel and the broken mirror. It must have fallen out. He stops to pick it up and inspect it, feeling Leon’s curious gaze on the back of his head all the while.

The mirror is broken, which is odd considering that it’s made out of silver. Other than the jagged crack running through the middle, there’s not a mark on it. Arthur puts it back in the satchel for now. He’ll ask Morgana to take a look at it later. Maybe she’ll see something more.

Merlin is still lying where Arthur left him. He’s also still breathing, and the sight of his chest moving makes Arthur feel as though a weight has been taken off his shoulders.

“Can you help me lift him onto my horse?” Arthur asks Leon, already making his way over to Merlin to get him off the hard ground..

  
“Of course, Sire,” Leon replies. He takes Merlin from Arthur’s arms when Arthur moves to saddle his horse, and lifts him up when Arthur holds out his arms. Together, they manoeuvre Merlin so that he’s sitting in front of Arthur with his back pressed against Arthur’s chest. Arthur waits for Leon to mount his horse before gripping Merlin’s waist with his injured arm, and the reins with the other as they begin their long trek back home. 

Merlin is unconscious for three days.

In this time, Arthur organises funeral pyres for all of the Knights who died (a beautiful, albeit sorrowful ceremony), visits their families to give them his condolences (he looks away when they burst into tears), gets a two-hour-long lecture from the King about how he’s not a good leader (Arthur already knows that he’s a failure), has a conversation with Morgana about the mirror (neither of them know how Merlin got out), avoids Leon almost entirely (there is one brief meeting in the tavern, but thankfully Leon doesn’t say anything), and secures Merlin a job as his manservant (something he’s sure Merlin will be just _thrilled_ about).

Arthur is thankful that he is there when Merlin finally opens his eyes. Merlin is convinced he is dreaming, and Arthur spends a few minutes calming him down and trying to convince him that yes, this is real - that he’s finally out of the mirror and back in the real world. When Merlin finally does believe him, he bursts into giddy laughter and launches himself at Arthur.

In hindsight, Arthur really should have expected the hug he was graced with.

Of course, that is the moment Gaius chooses to walk into the room. His eyebrow rises so high up on his forehead that it’s in danger of disappearing into his hairline. Arthur blushes at the sight and moves away, allowing Gaius to check up on his patient. Arthur is thankful that it was he who walked into the room and not Morgana. She would never let him live this down (and she probably never will if Merlin tells her about what just happened). He’s had enough of being teased because of his inability to deal with overly emotional situations, thank you very much.

Gaius releases Merlin from his care the following day, and Merlin begins to work for Arthur a day later. He’s about as thrilled as Arthur had expected, but he stays. He cleans Arthur’s chambers, brings him his food, and polishes his armour. Whenever Morgana comes over, they spend the evenings talking and laughing amongst each other.

Among the servants, Merlin is seen to be an enigma. He’s treated well - of course he is, considering that he’s the Prince’s personal manservant; no one would dare treat him otherwise - but the moment Merlin turns his back, Arthur sees people begin to whisper amongst themselves, wondering how a boy who came from out of nowhere managed to become so close to Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana, and how he manages to keep his position in the household staff when he is as far from efficient as possible.

Arthur is worried that at some point, someone will accuse Merlin of bewitching him in order to gain access to the most important people in the kingdom and that Arthur won’t be able to protect him.

In the meantime, they try to enjoy themselves however they can. Over the next few months, Arthur and Merlin become practically inseparable. Everyone knows that messing with Merlin is the quickest way to incur Arthur’s wrath, and vice versa - as more than a few bandits who are stupid enough to attack them find out.

Every once in a while, Arthur sees Leon looking at the two of them curiously, sometimes slightly suspiciously, and Arthur knows that he’ll eventually have to explain everything to him. He owes him that much. But for now, it can wait. He’s still not sure what Leon’s reaction to finding out that Merlin has magic would be, and Merlin’s safety comes first.

Once they’ve finally managed to fully wrap their heads around the fact that Merlin really _is_ here, that he’s out of the mirror for good (which takes a few months), they decide to look for the Druids. If anyone can explain what happened and why, it would be them.

Unfortunately, despite their most arduous efforts, neither of them ever manages to encounter a soul no matter where they search; no matter where Arthur’s so-called ‘hunting trips’ take them. They never come across a single magical being either.

It is also a few months pass that Arthur starts noticing weird things happening on their own. It starts off small - Arthur’s clothes folding themselves while Merlin is making the bed, or the kindling walking itself over to the fireplace when Merlin is otherwise occupied with Arthur’s armour. He berates Merlin every time he catches something like this happening, heart gripped with fear that if it had been anyone else to walk through the doors to his chambers, Merlin would be readying himself for the pyre. Merlin always apologizes and promises to work on it, and Arthur leaves, satisfied.

Then, bigger things begin to happen. A wild boar charging at Arthur is flung away by an unseen force, fire creates images of dragons and horses, and once, empty suits of armor walked around the citadel. The use of magic becomes far more noticeable, and, more often than not, people start pointing fingers. Thankfully, so far, Arthur has managed to keep any executions from occurring by finding ridiculous, but plausible explanations for the numerous events. Each and every time this happens, Arthur directs a glare at Merlin and can see him visibly shrink in on himself, eyes still wide with fear even though the danger is already past.

Then comes the night when Merlin barges into his chambers after Arthur has already gone to sleep, face streaked with tears and hands trembling. Arthur doesn’t even manage to wake up enough to ask what is wrong before Merlin is flinging himself at him and crying into his shoulder, his whole body shaking with sobs. After a moment of hesitation, Arthur wraps his own arms around Merlin, slowly rocking him back at forth. He can feel his shirt getting damp with Merlin’s tears.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, looking down at Merlin in concern.

“I c-can’t control it,” Merlin hiccups. “M-my magic. I can’t c-control it.”

Arthur is instantly on alert.

“Did something happen?” he asks. Is there something he needs to help hide, some trouble he needs to get Merlin out of? He’s about to push Merlin away and get up, but Merlin holds fast, unwilling to let him go. Instead, Arthur ends up sitting up against the headboard and hugging Merlin close, waiting for him to calm down.

“I h-had a nightmare,” Merlin whispers. He grips Arthur more tightly, as though he’s afraid that if he lets go, Arthur will disappear. “And then I woke up and I p-panicked and all the glassware in Gaius’s chambers e-exploded.”

Arthur feels his blood run cold.

“Merlin, we need to go,” Arthur says, trying to pry Merlin’s hands off him. “We need to clean up before Gaius notices, and find an explanation for all of his things disappearing.”

Merlin shakes his head, and presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck.

“Merlin, please,” Arthur implores. He won’t lose Merlin over something so trivial as some broken glass. He can’t. They’ve gotten out of worse situations; they can get out of this one. Now, if only Merlin would just _let go_ , then Arthur would be able to get up and do something about their newest problem.

“Don’t. Don’t leave me. Please,” Merlin begs, and Arthur, against his better judgement, settles down again. This isn’t just about the magic, he knows. There’s something more going on with Merlin that Arthur doesn’t know about - that he’s never been told about.

“What did you dream about?” he asks, regretting it when Merlin stiffens and pushes closer, even though they’re already as close together as is physically possible.

“Nothing,” Merlin whispers, voice almost breaking on the last syllable.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur growls. Merlin takes a few deep breaths, and right as Arthur is about to speak again, begins to talk.

“I was...um...back In the mirror,” Merlin whispers, obviously trying to make his voice sound more steady. Arthur rubs calming circles into his back as he waits for Merlin to go on. When he doesn’t, Arthur stops.

“And?” he asks.

“You were dead.”

Arthur stops moving altogether. No wonder Merlin is in such a state. Arthur doesn’t want to know how lonely it was for Merlin in the mirror-world, and he doesn’t even try to imagine how it would feel without anyone at all to talk to for years.

“Hey,” Arthur says. “Look at me.” It takes some tugging before Arthur finally gets Merlin to do as he asked. The moonlight reflects off the tear streaks on Merlin’s cheeks and shines light on his ruffled hair.

“I’m right here, aren’t I?” Arthur asks, smiling a little when Merlin nods in assent. “I’m not dead. It was just a dream.” Merlin sniffles.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping at his nose with the sleeve of his nightshirt. “I overreacted. I’ll-I’ll go.” His fingers detach from Arthur’s bare arms and leave Arthur feeling bereft.

“Stay for a bit. Gaius is probably still asleep; we can clean up later.” Arthur doesn’t want to leave Merlin alone when he is like this. The small but grateful smile Merlin sends his way only serves to convince him even more that Merlin isn’t fit to go anywhere.

Arthur maneuvers the both of them so that they are lying on the bed, facing each other, with Arthur’s arms still around Merlin’s waist. All of a sudden, Morgana’s mocking comments about him and Merlin make their way to the forefront of Arthur’s mind. She is right. They have long since stepped over the fine line between friends and something more. There is no one Arthur gets along with as well as Merlin, no one who understands him as well, no one else he feels he could say anything to.

  
Slowly, so that Merlin can see what is about to happen and put a stop to Arthur’s actions should he want to, Arthur leans forward and lets his lips meet Merlin’s. They’re warm and chapped against his own, and Arthur is unwilling to pull away. It’s only when Merlin doesn’t react for a while that he finally draws back.

“I’m sor-” Arthur begins to speak, only to be stopped when Merlin lunges forward and their lips crash against each other’s yet again. It’s all lips and teeth and tongues from there, and it’s sloppy and messy because neither of them have much experience (Merlin especially), and when they finally pull away to get some much-needed air, Merlin is looking at Arthur like he hung not just the moon, but also the sun and the stars and all the other planets in the sky.

“We’ll fix it. Everything. Tomorrow,” Arthur promises, because he can’t bear to go anywhere now, not when he’s so comfortable and feels like he has anything he’s ever wanted in life. They’ll talk to Gaius about the mess in his chambers and find a way to do something about Merlin’s magic. They’ll talk about how things are going to be between the two of them.

“Tomorrow,” Merlin agrees, snuggling into Arthur’s side. His warm breath tickles Arthur’s neck, and Arthur finds himself smiling.

For now, they’ll rest. The rest of the world can wait.

Gaius’s raised eyebrow is the first thing they see when they enter his chambers the next morning. Or, well, afternoon, because they accidentally overslept (it’s Merlin’s fault, really).

“Do I even need to ask?” Gaius says, when he sees that Merlin is still wearing his nightshirt. Arthur chuckles when Merlin blushes so hard that the tips of his ears turn red.

“We need to talk to you about something, Gaius,” Arthur says when it becomes apparent that Merlin won’t be able to talk without sputtering. Gaius merely sighs and sits down on a stool in front of the table.

“I was afraid of that. I take it that you’re here to explain why the floor was covered with glass when I woke up this morning?” Gaius assumes, looking over at Arthur. Arthur clears his throat.

“Yes, about that. It’s all my fault, really. I needed Merlin’s help with something, and we ended up accidentally breaking a few of the bottles,” he lies, fighting not to raise his hand to scratch at the back of his neck (it’s one of his tells). He winces when Gaius looks at him dubiously.

“Even the ones inside the cupboards?” he asks.

“Yes,” Arthur lies again. Merlin is nodding his head beside him, but he won’t look up from the floor. Gaius sighs.

“It’s incredible that I slept through all that commotion, is it not?”

“I…” Arthur trails off, uncertain of how to reply. “I suppose maybe you had something to drink?” he tries weakly.

“Don’t bother, Sire. I know magic when I see it,” Gaius says. Arthur feels his heart stop in his chest, and he takes an unconscious step in front of Merlin.

“He didn’t-”

“The King would have your head if he found out,” Gaius exclaims, looking straight at Merlin. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur can see Merlin shrink in on himself, and lift one hand to rub at his other arm.

“You’re not going to say anything?” Arthur asks, surprised, but also the slightest bit doubtful. Gaius has been one of the King’s most loyal supporters, and Arthur is unwilling to believe that he could be turned against him so easily, and that’s what this is - a betrayal.

The thought sits heavily on his mind.

“I’m not keen on getting my assistant executed, My Lord,” Gaius replies. “I take it that the events of last night were an accident?”

This time, it’s Merlin who speaks up.

“Yes. My magic, it…. It sort of… slipped out? On its own?” he says, voice slightly shaky.

“You don’t have control over your magic?” Gaius asks, eyebrows once again shooting up right into his hairline. “How you have managed not to be caught thus far, I don’t know.” Then, he looks right at Arthur. “On second thought…” Gaius sighs again and turns away to walk over to a cupboard. Both Arthur and Merlin look on curiously as he starts rifling through it.

“Ah, here it is,” Gaius exclaims after about a minute. He brings out an old book, blowing on it to dust it off. Merlin sneezes.

“What is that?” Arthur asks. He leans forward to take a closer look. The book is bound in leather with metal clasps. “Is that a-”

“A book of magic, yes. A trinket of the past, back when I myself used to practice magic.” Both Merlin and Arthur look at Gaius in surprise.

“You used to practice magic?” Merlin asks incredulously. “ _You?_ ”

“Do try to keep up, Merlin,” Gaius huffs. He hands Merlin the book. “This should help you. It’s what I learned from when I was young.”

Merlin accepts the present with wide eyes. His eyes dart to Arthur, as though asking permission to open it. The moment Arthur nods, Merlin’s hands begin fumbling with the clasp, only barely managing to open the book without having it fall out of his hands.

“This is… wow,” Merlin whispers, flipping through the pages. There are words Arthur cannot understand and diagrams he cannot even begin to comprehend, but Merlin looks happy, and it’s only now that Arthur notices how rarely Merlin has been smiling as of late. Not even Morgana’s quips toward Arthur made him do that recently.

Merlin looks up from his book at Gaius.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?” he asks, hugging the book close.

“And get my head chopped off for owning an artifact of magic? I think not!” Gaius says, before promptly turning away to grab a broom that was standing in the corner of the room. “Now, I really suggest you clean up this mess. I can barely take a step without feeling something crunch underfoot.”

Merlin’s grins widens and grabs the broom without complaint.

“Thank you so much!” he says. Gaius’s eyes soften and he smiles at Merlin fondly.

  
“You’re welcome.”

Merlin spends every following night in Arthur’s bed. They’re careful enough that there are no rumors about them as of yet, but Arthur knows that it’s only a matter of time before they slip up and someone finds out and lets the King know.

Arthur allows it mostly because sleeping in the same bed helps ease Merlin’s nightmares in a way no sleep tonics have managed to (the other reason is that Arthur enjoys waking up next to a warm body in the morning - the fact that Merlin kisses him awake also helps).

“Sire!” someone shouts, bursting into Arthur’s chambers one perfectly fine morning. Merlin is still asleep next to him, thankfully wearing his nightshirt.

Arthur pushes himself off the bed in an instant, glancing at Merlin to ensure he hasn’t woken him. The last night was particularly bad for the both of them, and Merlin had only managed to fall asleep a mere hour before the sun began to rise. It had taken Arthur a promise that he would help Merlin look for his mother - who he, despite his best efforts, hadn’t been able to find in the previous years, to get him to calm down even the slightest bit.

“Sir Leon!” Arthur shouts in a whisper (because yes, he is capable of doing that, and no, despite what Merlin claims Arthur did _not_ learn it from Morgana) Leon looks momentarily puzzled at the fact that Arthur is being quiet, but then his eyes land on the sleeping Merlin and widen in realisation. Much to Arthur’s amusement, Leon’s face turns an interesting shade of pink.

“I was - it’s your father, My Lord. He’s fallen gravely ill,” Leon says, his eyes doing their best not to dart to Merlin every few seconds.

Arthur’s blood runs cold.

“What’s happened?” Arthur asks, headed straight for the wardrobe to grab a tunic to wear. and walks past Leon through the open door while Leon follows, trying to explain.

“A maidservant found him this morning. She tried to wake him, and when he wouldn’t, she fetched Gaius.” Which means that Arthur slept well into the day again. This habit has to be stopped. “Gaius told me that there’s likely nothing that can be done, so I came to get you. So that you can… say your goodbyes,” Leon says, voice quieting down near the end.

Arthur swallowed loudly.

“Is there really nothing that can be done?” he asks. Leon shakes his head and looks at him apologetically.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies.

Arthur doesn’t speak for the remainder of the journey to the King’s chambers, letting his and Leon’s loud footfalls fill the silence. It doesn’t take long before they’re standing right before the rooms. Arthur reaches out to grab the doorknob, but pauses right before, shooting a slightly cold look at Leon.

“What you saw in my rooms today,” Arthur begins.

“I won’t tell a soul,” Leon vows, shaking his head vehemently. His cheeks turn the lightest shade of pink again, and if the situation was any different, Arthur would probably tease him about it.

“Good. Just so we’re clear,” Arthur declares. He reaches forward again, this time placing his hand on the doorknob and opening the door.

The King is lying on his back on the bed, deathly pale. Gaius is standing by a table, surrounded by all kinds of bottles and jars. He turns to look at Arthur as he comes in, letting the door slam shut behind him.

“How is he?” Arthur asks. Despite Leon having told him that the situation is dire, he needs to hear it from Gaius’s own lips. The King has always been a strong man - the strongest Arthur has ever had the opportunity to know. Arthur always thought, maybe a bit childishly, that he would live forever. Despite the fact that they aren’t really close (especially these last few years, when the King had not done much besides express his dissatisfaction with Arthur’s actions and disappointment in Arthur on general), seeing him lying on the bed weak and frail and on the brink of death hurts and scares Arthur more than he cares to admit.

“I’m afraid it’s time, Sire,” Gaius says, watching Arthur with sad eyes. “There is nothing either of us can do other than to make him comfortable.”

Arthur clenches his jaw so hard that he’s almost sure he feels a tooth crack.

“Absolutely nothing?” he ascertains, though he knows that it’s impossible for Gaius to have come up with a solution in a single second.

“No,” Gaius replies, shaking his head. He looks more sombre than Arthur has ever seen him, and if Arthur didn’t know any better he’d say that Gaius’s hair is whiter now than it was yesterday.

Arthur walks forward and sinks into the chair next to the King’s bed. He hears Gaius leave, but pays him no mind. All of his thoughts are with the King and the future. Arthur is still young - perhaps too young to be a good and respected ruler. He has long wished to have more power over the laws so that he could repeal or change some of them (especially those relating to magic, but he’s never wanted that power at such a cost. Even though the King may not have always been a good and just ruler, Arthur doesn’t want him to die.

He doesn’t want to have to face up to the responsibility of being the king of such a great land at such a young age. If the King were awake, he’d probably feel the same. He’d often complained about Arthur and had never wasted any time listing his many faults.

Arthur doesn’t think he can do this. He doesn’t think he can be the leader this land needs him to be.

He doesn’t know how long he sits at the King’s bedside, but when he finally lifts his head, the candles have been lit and any and all sunlight has fled from the room, his spine hurts from being bent forward in a silent prayer.

Arthur gets up, grabbing onto the back of the chair as blackness swarms his vision. He waits until it has cleared before moving to leave the room.

He spares the King one last glance and finds his just as pale and unresponsive as he’s been for the past hours.

Arthur can’t bear to watch him die.

And he won’t have to, he thinks, struck with a sudden idea. Arthur quickly exits the King’s chambers and runs toward his own, hoping that he’ll find Merlin there.

When he barges into his chambers, he startles Merlin so badly that he drops the bowl he was holding. It shatters. Merlin’s eyes instantly glow gold and magic pours out, headed straight for the bowl. It mends, safely floats onto the table.

Arthur’s thoughts are preoccupied with another matter, and he forgets to admonish Merlin for the careless display of magic.

“I need you to do something for me,” Arthur says, walking up to Merlin hurriedly. The sympathetic look in Merlin’s eyes tells Arthur that he’s already heard what’s happened. That should come as no surprise; the whole citadel must know already. Word travels fast, especially amongst the servants of the Royal Household.

“Yes, of course,” Merlin replies immediately. “What do you need?” He looks alert and ready to tackle whatever job Arthur gives him. It’s this expression on Merlin’s face that gives Arthur the courage to finally say what he needs.

“I need you to use magic to heal the King,” he breathes out in a rush, looking at Merlin beseechingly. Merlin’s face falls.

“Arthur…” he says, uncertain. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Merlin, _please_ ,” Arthur replies, hoping against all hope that the use of that one word, one which he so rarely uses, will get Merlin to do this for him. Just this one thing. It’s all Arthur asks of him; all he has ever asked of him.

Merlin bites his lip and looks at Arthur, eyes flitting all over his face. The tension in the room is palpable.

“I’ll try,” Merlin finally says, after what seems like hours. _For you_ goes unsaid.

Arthur breathes out a sigh of relief. It’s like a weight has been lifted off his back, because he knows that Merlin will do everything in his power to ensure the King’s survival.

Arthur reaches out to grip Merlin’s hand in his own.

“Thank you,” he says, more sincerely than ever before in his life.

“Wow. Such a big show of good manners, all in the span of a few minutes. Are you sure _you’re_ not the one who’s ill?” Merlin teases him, but it falls a bit flat courtesy of the terrible situation they have found themselves in.

“I ensure you that I am perfectly fine,” Arthur replies, smiling softly. “Come, now. There isn’t much time.” He turns around and tries to pull Merlin along, but Merlin digs his heels into the stone floor.

“Wait. I need to get a few things first,” he says. Arthur looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Get one of the maids to fetch whatever you need,” he answers, because really, it should be obvious. Merlin needs to see the King soon, to figure out what to do - what spell to use and how to use it.

“Oh, yes, because I’m sure that asking someone to bring me my book of magic would go along so very well,” Merlin says, glaring at him, and Arthur wants to berate himself for his own stupidity. He doesn’t, of course. Merlin is in the room.

  
“Don’t take too long,” Arthur says, letting go of Merlin’s hand. He turns around and walks out the door, Merlin’s ‘I won’t’ following him.

It takes Merlin roughly half an hour to get to the King’s chambers. By then, Arthur has grown impatient and his mood has soured considerably.

“Sorry,” Merlin says when he bursts through the door. “I got held up by Gaius.”

Arthur merely grunts in reply. He watches as Merlin walks forward to put down everything he is holding on the King’s bed. There is a branch of some plant Arthur doesn’t know the name of, a potion, and the book of spells from Gaius. Arthur’s eyes stay on Merlin, while Merlin’s own focus on the King. His nervousness shows in the way he is playing with the sleeves of his tunic, fingers twisting the material so hard that Arthur is certain it is going to rip.

“Alright,” Merlin says after a minute or so. He reaches out for the potion, uncorks it, and puts four drops into the King’s mouth. That done, Merlin puts the flask to the side and grabs the plant. Once the branch is in his hands, Merlin, after one last glance at Arthur to ascertain that this is what he wants, begins casting the spell.

“ **Efencume... ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige gestricaþ þis lic forod**.”

The branch begins smoking before the first word is out,  Merlin moves it to wave it over the King’s body. His eyes turn a brilliant gold - the most vibrant shade Arthur has seen on them yet, and his hands start shaking. Arthur moves to catch him before he collapses and helps him sit down on the bed. He only has a second to notice the streak of blood flowing from his nose, before a gasp and a cough brings his attention to the King.

His eyes have opened and he’s looking straight at Arthur. He’s not smiling, but at least he’s not pale and listless, as he was before. While the King may not be smiling, Arthur is.

“It… it worked. It worked!” he shouts, looking at Merlin, who grins back at him weakly. The trail of blood has been wiped off with his sleeve, and other than the slight paleness of his skin, he seems fine.

That is when the King goes limp.

Arthur is leaning over him in an instant. He reaches out a shaky hand to the King’s face, eyes wide. The King’s chest is immobile and Arthur feels no air coming from his chest.

He’s dead.

“No…” Arthur whispers. He doesn’t understand how this happened. One second, the King had looked like his usual self - like he was about to demand to know why he wasn’t woken at the crack of dawn.

The next second he was dead.

Arthur turns to Merlin, who is sitting on the bed looking confused and stricken.

“You did this,” he spits out, reaching out to grip Merlin’s collar. “You killed him!” Because that’s what it has to be, right? The King had been better before Merlin cast the spell, and Gaius hadn’t said that he would be dying today, had suggested that despite the fact that the King was bedridden, it would take a few days for him to leave this world for the next.

Merlin’s magic had killed him before his time.

Arthur had trusted him. He had thought that Merlin was his friend, _something more_ , disregarding the King’s teachings about sorcery and corruption. He thought that Merlin was a good person - someone who would never harm another living being. Someone who preserved life in whatever way he could.

He was wrong, so very wrong. He thought Merlin was different and willing to forgive the King for his crusade against all things magical, but in the end, it would seems that that wasn’t the situation at all.

He should have reported Merlin the day he met him. He shouldn’t have sentenced his own father to death.

“I didn’t kill him!” Merlin says, eyes wide with fear. Fear of Arthur, of what is going to happen to him. A little voice in Arthur’s head tells him that this is wrong - that Merlin’s eyes should be full of love and kindness and compassion, not fear - never fear - but he ignores it. “I couldn’t! You know I wouldn’t!” Merlin’s voice is raspy.

  
“You’re a lying, cheating sorcerer! Who am I to know what goes on in your head?!” Arthur shouts at him, causing Merlin to flinch back ever so slightly. He looks vulnerable and pained, but it does nothing to appease Arthur’s anger.

“I’m your _friend_ ,” Merlin replies, eyes shining with unshed tears. Arthur ignores that, too.

“You’ve no control over your magic; you haven’t since you’ve gotten out of the mirror! I wish to all the gods you’d never come here!” Arthur shouts. Whatever color was left in Merlin’s face drains away at the words, but Arthur doesn’t take them back. He’s ridden with grief and anger and he doesn’t care about the pain he’s causing - he wishes to say more, to say worse things, but whatever remains of his affection toward Merlin holds him back. Despite this, he needs to lash out, and it’s Merlin who caused the King’s death, who’s near enough to take the brunt of Arthur’s emotions

“You don’t mean that,” Merlin whispers, voice breaking.

“I think I do,” Arthur retorts. Merlin takes a shaky breath before reaching up to remove Arthur’s fingers from the collar of his tunic one by one. He turns and walks away without another word.

When the door shuts softly, Arthur turns back to the King, still lying on the bed. The whole situation feels surreal. He can’t help but to think that the King will open his eyes again, despite the fact that the logical, rational part of his brain is telling him that that’s impossible and that the King is dead and that Merlin - that _magic_ \- killed him. That he’ll never get up again, never look at Arthur again, never rule Camelot again.

  
It’s those thoughts running rampant through his head that finally invoke his tears.

The next few hours are a haze. Gaius comes in to find Arthur sitting on the bed, holding the King’s hand in both of his own. Someone takes him back to his chambers, helps him change, brings him food.

Arthur is in a daze.

He starts when a hand lands on his shoulder.

He turns around to look at the person the hand belongs to, and is surprised to find Morgana standing behind him. Her face is completely devoid of emotion, and Arthur has to wonder whether that’s because she didn’t care for the king, or whether she’s just putting up a strong front for him.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she says. Her voice is soft and gentle, so very different than usual that Arthur has half a mind to ask her whether she really is the woman he’s always treated as a sister.

Arthur allows himself to be led away from the table, where his food had long since gone cold, to the blood red sheets splayed all over his unmade bed, looking as though they haven’t been touched since that morning.

Morgana tucks him in, even gracing his forehead with a kiss. She sits down next to him.

“How do you feel?” she asks, reaching over to brush her hand through his hair. It feels nice.

“Tired. Cold. Miserable,” Arthur states, his own voice devoid of emotion. Morgana hums, continuing to stroke his hair. It suddenly dawns on Arthur how lonely he feels.

“Can you stay the night?” he asks quietly. Arthur knows he sounds a bit childish, but he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even care. Morgana doesn’t tease him, seemingly understanding his need for human contact.

“Maybe I should get Merlin, instead,” she says, looking uncertain - which is also unnatural. Morgana has always been very self-confident.

Arthur stiffens. He doesn’t want to think about Merlin and his betrayal right now. He’s got too much on his hands already, and adding Merlin into the mix would be far too much for him to handle. His chest hurts, and he briefly wonders whether this pain is the King’s death or something else.

Instead of answering, Arthur grabs Morgana’s hand and pulls her forward so that she’s lying on the bed beside him. She doesn’t complain about being manhandled in such away, which is weird, and, for some unbeknownst to Arthur reason, unnerving.

He doesn’t get much sleep that night, and, because of his constant tossing and turning, he doubts Morgana does either. He decides to get up when the sun begins to rise.

“Where are you going?” Morgana asks when Arthur throws off the covers, her voice laden with sleep.

“I need to make preparations for the funeral,” he answers, looking around for something to wear. All he finds is a tunic thrown haphazardly next to the bedside table and a pair of breeches hanging over the paravan.

“I’ll help you. Give me a few minutes,” Morgana replies. Arthur hears the bed creak as she stands.  He waits for her to leave before getting up to walk and get his clothes. When he’s finished dressing himself to the best of his ability, he lies back down on the bed to wait for Morgana.

He doesn’t have to wait long. True to her word, Morgana shows up a mere few minutes later, looking as regal as ever despite the deep dark shadows under her eyes. She walks over to him, holds out her hand, and when Arthur grabs it, she hefts him up from the bed.

  
He allows her to lead him out into the depths of the castle, too weary and tired and stricken with grief to do anything by himself.

There is much to be done. The maids have already embalmed and dressed the body, but Arthur still needs to formally announce the King’s passing to the people. Morgana, meanwhile, arranges for the services of a stonemason and sculptor.

Arthur spends the day kneeling in front of the King’s body, mourning his passing. When he finally leaves the hall, Morgana is waiting for him.

“Are you feeling better?” she asks, and the question is so unlike anything she’s ever said to him before that he can’t help but to bark out a laugh.

When Arthur doesn’t answer her question, she takes him by the arm and leads him back to his chambers.

“Gwen is worried,” Morgana tells him once they are finally behind closed doors. Arthur looks up to see her biting her lip.

“Why?” Arthur asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. Let her change the topic. Let him forget, at least for a little while, what happened the day before.

“Neither she nor Gaius have seen Merlin today, and his bed hasn’t been slept in. All of his possessions are gone.” Arthur scoffs and turns to gaze into the fire. And to think that he’d hopes she would talk about something else for at least a little while.

“Good,” he grunts, ignoring Morgana’s sharp intake of breath.

“Excuse me?” she asks, voice full of ice and steel.

“I don’t want him here,” Arthur replies, because he really doesn’t. He can’t imagine what he’ll do to Merlin if he ever sees him again. When he closes his eyes all he can see is Merlin casting the spell that took the King’s life.

“Why, pray tell,” Morgana demands. He can understand her confusion. He and Merlin have been inseparable ever since he’d gotten out of the mirror, and now he’s gone missing and Arthur isn’t even the slightest bit concerned.

“He killed my father,” he states bluntly, watching as the flames lick at the stone hearth. Morgana is silent for all of three seconds, which is a very long time for her. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so speechless in all the time he’s known her.

“You’re not serious?!” she shouts, her voice laden with disbelief, which goes to show just how much Merlin had managed to worm his way into her heart. No-one expected him to do any wrong.

“I’m absolutely serious. I asked him to use magic to heal the King, and instead he killed him before my very eyes.” It hurts. Arthur had so much faith in Merlin, that such a thing happening had never crossed his mind. Even now, there’s a voice niggling at his mind, telling him that what he’d seen isn’t what had actually happened, that there’s something else, maybe something he missed that would explain everything.

He promptly tells that voice to shut up.

“You asked Merlin to use magic to heal the King?” Morgana ascertains. Arthur can imagine the expression on her face - her mouth agape and her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Yes,” Arthur says.

“And Merlin killed him?” she whispers.

Arthur turns to look at her and nods to confirm it.

“You really believe that Merlin killed your father?! That he’s even capable of undertaking such a feat? Arthur, this is Merlin! Do you truly believe he would hurt you like this?”

“He did it, Morgana! I saw it with my own eyes!” Arthur shouts back. But what did he see, exactly? How much of what happened could he actually understand? He doesn’t know much about magic, despite being surrounded by it for all these years.

No. He knows what he saw.

Morgana seems to disagree.

“How? How much do you _actually_ know about magic? About us, about sorcerers?” she spits out, eyes flashing dangerously.

“Enough to know that it corrupts,” Arthur hisses back.

“Is that so? Then why haven’t you sent me away yet? Why haven’t you had me killed? Why have you been spending your days and _nights_ in the presence of a sorcerer for so long?!” she demands angrily. It’s a low blow, and Morgana knows it. She doesn’t react when Arthur reels back at the words.

“You’re family,” Arthur says. This time, it’s his turn to look on in disbelief. “You wouldn’t…”

“So is Merlin. The reason wouldn’t have done anything to me had it been I who had tried to use magic to heal the King is that you see me, first and foremost, as your sister. The magic came later - just an addition to who I already was. You knew what I was like before magic, and you judge my actions of the basis of that. You would have believed that I’d done everything in my power, and that the King’s death was just an unfortunate turn of events! Merlin isn’t as lucky. You’ve always associated him with magic, and when worse comes to worst, you are unable to look past it and see a friend! He’s been your friend, your _lover_ , for so long, yet you refuse to see past him being a sorcerer and put all the blame on his shoulders, and his alone.”

“I-” Arthur tries to get a word in edgewise, even if only to argue that he and Merlin have never gone that far, but Morgana won’t listen to him.

“Maybe it was just Uther’s time! He wouldn’t have lived for much longer anyway. Maybe the spell failed, and whatever you saw was just a fluke! If Merlin had really wanted Uther dead, he could just as easily have waited - Gaius said he would have been dead within days either way. Instead, Merlin wanted to help you and to save the King, and you treated him badly enough to make him leave.” She’s glaring at him again, and the force of it, combined with her words, causes what feels suspiciously like shame to well up in his stomach. “I just don’t understand why you would choose Uther over Merlin - because this is what it’s come down to, Arthur - a choice. Between Uther and Merlin - hatred and love. Uther had never been much of a father to you. He may have been related to you by blood, but what kindness did he ever show you? All he did was push you to be someone you’re not. He wanted you to be more like him - to be ruthless and compassionless. Merlin has been here for you for years - for every step of the way, offering his advice whenever you needed it and never, not once, judging you for your actions. And yet you choose Uther over him.”

By the time she’s finished her rant, Arthur is sitting in a chair, immobile, and digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands hard enough for it to hurt.

She’s right, however much he does not want to admit it. All the King had ever expressed was his disapproval for Arthur’s actions. He’d spent his life feeling as though he could never measure up, as though he was a disappointment. And Merlin… Merlin had always been there for him, whenever Arthur needed anything, disregarding his own emotions and wellbeing in the process. He remembers that one time, years back, when the Druid woman was burnt at the stake, and how Merlin had pushed past whatever fear he must have been feeling in an attempt to cheer Arthur up with a story.

“I…” Arthur rasps. “I need to think.”

Morgana gives him another hard look.

“You do that. And when you’re done, you’ll go after Merlin. You’ll find him, drop to your knees, apologise for whatever cruel words you spoke to him and you will _beg_ him to take you back, Arthur Pendragon. You will do whatever it takes,” she says, and who is Arthur to argue?

She’s right. She’s always right, and now that someone’s finally given him a rhetorical slap upside the head and he’s taken a step back to actually think about what had happened last night, ignoring his grief and anger, he can see that. He can see Merlin’s hurt expression and his unshed tears and the stiff way he held himself when he left the room, as though he was trying to hold himself together and not to break down and cry.

With that comes the realisation that Merlin is alone somewhere, thinking that Arthur hates him. He feels sick when he realises that Merlin probably forewent bringing a weapon with him, and how he could stumble into the path of bandits any moment.

And Arthur knows, deep down, that if it came to that, Merlin wouldn’t even use his magic to kill them in self-defense.

“I’ve botched this up. I’ve made a mess of things,” he whispers, looking up at Morgana, and this is the second time in as many days that he feels like a small child. “I need to find him.”

Arthur moves to stand, but Morgana places her hands on his shoulders and pushes him back down.

“Yes, you do, but not today. It’s already dark out, and while I like that idea of Merlin out there, alone just as much as I think you do, you won’t be able to track him down at this hour,” she says.

Once again, she’s right.

“I don’t even know which direction he’s gone in,” Arthur says helplessly. His statement leads to Morgana pursing her lips.

“Is there any place that he knows besides Camelot? Anywhere familiar he could have gone?” she asks, her voice much gentler now than it had been a few minutes ago.

“I don’t know,” Arthur replies, raising his hands to knot his fingers in his hair. “Maybe. He could have gone to look for the place where he used to live as a child.”

“Then you have a lead. You can go tomorrow. Ask around, maybe someone saw him. Take a horse, and you should catch up to him easily enough. The funeral cannot be put off any longer, but I can tell people that you’re not well. You might like to go pay your respects and say your goodbyes now.”

“Thank you,” he says, smiling at her. “I’ll ride at first light.”

  
“Good luck, Arthur.”

The next morning, Arthur dresses up as poorly as he can and dons a blue cloak to conceal his identity. He walks around town, asking anyone if they’ve seen Merlin. His legs eventually start hurting, and he feels like he’s just walked from one end of the kingdom to the other, and he’s almost given up all hope when, after two hours or so, he finally gets lucky and one man says he saw a pale man with black hair and blue eyes headed west.

“He stopped by to buy some bread and cheese,” the man says. “Said he was headed to a place called Ealdor.”

Arthur thanks him with a gold coin before heading off toward the stables to mount his horse. He’s got his sword with him, and some food and water for the journey. He hopes to find Merlin before the day is over.

He hopes that Merlin will be able to forgive him.

The journey is long and tedious. There is nothing to do to pass the time; no one to talk to. Usually, Merlin would be nearby, and they would tease each other and banter throughout the trip, but Merlin isn’t here now and there is nothing to distract Arthur from his thoughts.

The day passes slowly. Arthur makes as few stops as he can. They are mainly for the horse’s benefit. Arthur’s own stomach is tied up in knots. He doesn’t think he’d be able to keep anything down. He can’t stop wondering about what he’ll say to Merlin once he finally finds him.

If he finds him.

No, he can’t think that way. Of course he’ll find Merlin. Arthur knows where he’s headed, and while he may have been unable to find the town of Ealdor however much he looked for it over the previous years, this time he plans to look for it until he either finds it or dies trying.

He imagines Morgana would take control of Camelot if that were to happen and promptly makes a resolve not to die, because he loves his kingdom too much to subject it to whatever horrors Morgana would bring about.

Not that he really thinks she’d be a bad queen. On the contrary - she’d be amazing as the Queen. The people already love her, and if she implemented some of the laws she’d been trying to convince the King to pass these last few years, Camelot would truly become a peaceful and wealthy land.

The day passes slowly as Arthur rides through the forest and over the hills. He only knows he’s headed in the right direction because a while ago he came across the remains of a fire, and something deep within him, something that he cannot hope to understand, is telling him that it was made by Merlin.

The sun is beginning to set. Arthur had thought it wouldn’t take him long to find Merlin, so he hadn’t brought much in the way of provisions. He has enough food to keep going for another day, but any more than that and he’ll have to either hunt down a rabbit or go back.

An hour or so later, and he’s debating whether or not to make camp and give up the chase for the day. It is then that Arthur sees a speck of light in the distance. Heart racing in his chest, he urges his horse forward, patting her neck apologetically when she whinnies with exhaustion.

As Arthur comes closer, he realises that the speck of light is, in fact, a campfire. He thinks there’s someone lying in front of it, but he’s too far away to be able to tell properly. Arthur stops a ways  from the camp and ties the horse’s reins to a low-hanging tree branch. He grabs his sword and creeps closer, being careful not to make the person aware of his presence.

The person lying in front of the campfire is shivering, he realises when he comes up behind them. They’re covered by a thin, worn blanket and not much else, and the night air has gotten very chilly for this time of the year.

The person is a man with black hair and pale skin, and Arthur resheaths his sword.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispers as he nears him. When Merlin doesn’t stir and there is no sound other than the continued chattering of his teeth, Arthur kneels behind him and places his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Merlin,” Arthur tries again, giving him a little shake. He’s about to repeat himself for a third time, but the warmth of his hand on Merlin’s shoulder must wake Merlin, as he shifts toward Arthur and opens his eyes the smallest bit.

“‘Rth’r?” he mumbles, and Arthur can see the beginnings of a smile forming on his face. It disappears quickly, however, when Merlin comes to his senses properly. “What do you want?” he asks. His voice is guarded and tense and Arthur has never heard it like this, and once again he feels shame well up in his stomach.

He caused this. Merlin’s coldness towards him is Arthur’s fault.

“We need to talk,” Arthur replies as Merlin shifts to sit up on the pile of leaves and grass that is apparently functioning as a bedding.

“What about? My impending execution?” Merlin asks, and his voice is distant and polite, like one’s is when they are making small talk with a stranger. However, when Arthur looks at him more closely, he can see the tension bunched up in Merlin’s shoulders, and the way he’s got one arm protectively wrapped around his torso.

Arthur swallows, mouth having suddenly gone dry.

“I’ve come to ask you to some back with me,” he explains. Merlin snorts.

“Sorry, but I must decline. I’m perfectly happy with my head where it is - on my shoulders,” he replies. Arthur is starting to feel the panic slowly seep into him. There are two things he can do now - two ways he can try to right the situation: he can be his usual arrogant, supercilious self and very likely mess up his apology to Merlin and therefore turn him away irrevocably, or he can listen to Morgana, and, as much as he hates to admit, that would probably bring about the better outcome.

He’s already on his knees. It takes only a quick motion to bring his hands up in front of his chest and fold them.

“I’m here to apologise. I haven’t been a good friend to you. You were innocent and undeserving of my wrath, but I refused to see past my fear of magic in order to see that you were actually trying to help me. I behaved terribly and ended up driving you away,” he breathes out in a rush, letting the words blend into one another. “I ended up driving away the person I care about most in both this world and the next.” His eyes are closed because he’s afraid that if he opens them, there will be nothing to stop his tears from falling, but he hears Merlin’s sudden intake of breath and can imagine the shock painting his face. “I love you, Merlin, and I was wrong. Please come back. Please.”

Even though his impromptu speech has come to an end, he cannot bear to open his eyes and look at Merlin. Instead, Arthur stays where he is, unmoving, and waits for Merlin’s answer, and oh gods, how had he never realized how much he needs to have Merlin around?

“Alright,” Merlin concedes after a few terribly long seconds of silence. Arthur opens his eyes to look at Merlin, who is biting his lip and looking conflicted. “I accept your apology. But things need to change, Arthur. You can’t keep blaming magic for everything that goes bad. I thought I’d managed to show you that it can be used for good.” It’s almost painful to hear the disappointment in Merlin’s voice. It’s even more painful to admit that he’d thought so, too.

“I’ve talked to Morgana. She explained a few things to me and made me realise how wrong I was,” Arthur says. “I am sorry. Truly. For not trusting as much as you trusted me and for acting so rashly,” he adds, because he’s not sure if Merlin understands the true extent of his feelings.

“I can see that,” Merlin replies, and Arthur is thankful for the small note of teasing that’s entered his voice. He can’t hold back his tears anymore. They’re flowing from his eyes as if they’ll never stop. Arthur puts his hand to his mouth to hold back the sobs threatening to burst free.

He starts when Merlin wraps his arms around him and puts his head on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Will you come back with me?” Arthur asks, voice cracking at the end, and oh gods, he hates showing this much emotion, but he can’t stop himself anymore. Thankfully, the only person he’s with is Merlin, and Merlin has always known how to deal with emotions.

“I don’t know,” Merlin whispers, and Arthur can hear all of his internal conflict in the tone of his voice. “I want to, but it’s. I don’t know if I can. If I should.”

“I need you. I love you. Please,” Arthur whispers back. He’s laid himself bare and he doesn’t know how he’ll cope if Merlin rejects him outright. If he’s honest with himself, he’s never taken into consideration that Merlin might not have it in his heart to forgive him fully. He’s thought that he’d plead and apologise and Merlin would eventually concede. “I’ll do anything.”

Merlin sighs, looking up at Arthur with a heartbroken expression on his face.

“But will you? Can you honestly say that you’re prepared to do _anything_ I ask of you?” he says, sounding as though he already knows Arthur’s answer.

Arthur doesn’t think it’s the same answer he’s about to give.

“Yes, of course. Anything,” he says quickly, voice rising in volume. “Anything you want,” he continues as Merlin once more leans his forehead on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Then you would be prepared to lift the ban on magic?” Merlin asks, despondent. The question brings all of Arthur’s thoughts to a halt. “To go against everything the King believed in? To make a mockery of his death?”

His words are harsh, and it feels as though he’s trying to force Arthur to say no.

“I-” Arthur begins to say, but then he breaks off. The King - his _father_ \- just died. He’s long since believed that magic and sorcerers aren’t treated fairly, but to repeal the ban would be the ultimate betrayal. He loves Merlin, but as much as he wants him to feel safe, Arthur isn’t sure whether he can do something like this to the man who raised him.

There’s a voice whispering to him that it wasn’t the King who raised him but a cluster of nursemaids and maidservants.

There’s also the fact that however much he didn’t want them to, some of the King’s teachings sunk their claws into him and refuse to let go, even to this day. He is still wary of magic and can’t imagine having so many people possessing it come together in one place, or that place being safe for other people. Mundane people.

“Exactly,” Merlin says. He’s moving away from Arthur now, not raising his eyes to meet Arthur’s own. He struggles a bit when Arthur refuses to relinquish his hold on Merlin’s waist, to relinquish this closeness he hasn’t felt in far too long. “I can’t live like that, not with the threat of death hanging over me every second of every day.”

  
“You know that I wouldn’t kill you!” Arthur says as Merlin breaks out of his hold, leaving Arthur’s arms to drop to his sides.

“What makes me so different from the rest of the sorcerers? From the innocents that your father killed? The ones you helped to slaughter?” His words make Arthur feel sick and incur his anger because he knows what Merlin is referring to, and because Merlin knows that’s not what had happened - that’s not how it had gone.

“You know that I told them to spare the women and children!” he shouts at Merlin, staring at him in disbelief. “You know that I tried to save them!” He still has nightmares about it - leading the attack on the Druid camp, ordering his Knights to kill only the men; to let the others go. About his men refusing to listen to him and instead slaughtering every single person in the camp.

“And yet that does not change the fact that they’re still dead. And if my magic were to be revealed, I’d be no better off,” Merlin concludes. Arthur finally sees why he brought up the subject of the attack.

“I would kill anyone who even tried to lay a hand on you,” he vows. Merlin’s lips quirk into some semblance of a smile.

“Not even you could kill that many people. There’s too much of a prejudice against magic, and it will continue to be so unless you take the steps to change it. That’s why I can’t go back. I want to be with you, gods know I do, because I love you more than you can ever imagine, but I can’t live like that. I’m sorry, Arthur.” Merlin says. He lies down and turns back to stare at the fire - he turns away from Arthur.

All of a sudden, Arthur can hear Morgana’s voice reverberating through his head.

_You will do whatever it takes._

He will, he thinks. He can’t bear to lose Merlin, not now that Merlin has admitted that the love Arthur feels toward him is reciprocated, even if it means betraying the King.

Betraying his father - the man who was always distant and disapproving of Arthur’s actions, no matter how much effort Arthur put into trying to gain his approval.

It’s not as though this is going to be Arthur’s first time letting him down, but he doesn’t want it to also be the first time he’s let down Merlin (because he knows that no matter what he did before, Merlin understood his actions and forgave them). Now that the King is out of the picture, there’s nothing stopping Arthur from doing what he believes to be true - nothing at all. Telling Merlin “no” is tantamount to admitting that all magic is evil and should be eradicated from this world.

Arthur doesn’t want that. He’s seen more than his fair share of dark magic, but there’s also been so much good in it. Merlin’s showed him that it can be wielded both ways, just as a sword - it can either protect or harm.

Arthur cannot bring himself to believe that Merlin would ever use his gifts to harm.

“I’ll do it,” he says, voice breaking the silence that had swept over the area. “I’ll repeal the ban.”

Merlin turns to look at him so quickly that Arthur is afraid he’ll get whiplash.

“You’ll what?” he asks. The expression of complete and utter shock on his face would warrant its fair bit of teasing has the situation been any less serious.

“I’ll make Camelot safe for you. For you and Morgana and Gaius and anyone else who comes there with the purpose of using their magic for good. I swear to the gods I’ll do it, Merlin. I’ll just need time,” he says, inching closer.

“But how much time?” Merlin asks.

“Enough to draft up new laws. I’m sure that Morgana’s already thought up a few. It’ll need to be done slowly. The ban has been in place for over two decades, and people would rebel if we took action too quickly. They need to be shown magic can be used for things other than to harm and destroy,” he says, revelling in the fact that the sad look has been wiped from Merlin’s features and has instead turned into something more excited and disbelieving.

“Please don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Merlin whispers, eyes searching Arthur’s face for the smallest hint of a lie.

“But I do! I’d do anything for you,” Arthur replies. The look of wonder hasn’t slid from Merlin’s face yet. Arthur leans forward, catching Merlin’s lips in a kiss. “And it’s the right thing to do.” The last part sounds too much like a question even to Arthur’s own ears, but he tells himself that he just needs to get better acquainted with the idea.

Merlin initiates the next kiss. And the one after that, and the next, each less chaste than the previous. They’re both flushed and smiling and giggling by the time they finally break apart., knowing that if they go on, it’ll get out of hand.

“It would seem that I’ve no choice but to come back,” Merlin says, smiling crookedly, love and affection and adoration clearly visible in his eyes, even in the dim moonlight.

  
“You really don’t, not anymore,” Arthur replies, grinning back. He will do everything in his power to keep Merlin happy and safe, and to keep him from ever wanting to leave again.

They don’t return to Camelot right away. Instead, they continue toward where Merlin thinks Ealdor is located. This happens despite Merlin’s insistence for Arthur to return and let him go on alone - Arthur isn’t willing to let Merlin out of his sight for another second. He has this irrational fear that if he does, he’ll never see him again - that Merlin will wander far enough away that Arthur will never be able to find him again.

Arthur has brought with him enough coins to buy supplies in the next village they come across, and they spend no more nights freezing, sleeping on Merlin’s ratty blanket and covered by Arthur’s cape.

The journey to Ealdor is a long one. Even with the horse, it still takes a few days before they are anywhere near Camelot’s borders. Arthur stows away his cape in case any of King Cenred’s mean are nearby. He’s almost certain that it has the Pendragon insignia stitched on somewhere because everything he’d ever found at the citadel did, and it would cause a political uproar if the new, not-yet-crowned King of Camelot were to be caught trespassing in another kingdom.

He wonders what lies Morgana is selling to the court about his absence. He also wonders if she's managed to rope Gaius into helping her sell her story. She probably did, because Gaius is both a trusted council member and the court physician, and his assistance would be crucial were she to make her lies seem believable.

Knowing Morgana, she’s probably announced that he’s caught a contagious disease and no-one can be allowed to be near him for some amount of time.

Once they’re over the border and properly disguised (well, Merlin, at least, could pass for a peasant), it’s Merlin’s turn to take the lead despite the fact that he himself had admitted that he’d never before travelled through these parts of Cenred’s kingdom. Still, better his lead than Arthur’s, since Arthur has never been through these lands without a map and compass and is even more likely than Merlin to get them both lost. At least Merlin has a small hope of finding a landmark he recognises; Arthur has nothing.

They get lucky after a few hours of aimless wandering. By some small miracle, they come across a set of interconnected tunnels. They mean it to be their shelter for an hour’s rest, but Merlin, being curious, decides to go and explore them, and realizes that he’s been there before.

Arthur promises to himself that he’ll never forget the way Merlin’s face lit up.

“We’re nearly there, Arthur! Ealdor is only a little while away!” Merlin shouts at him eyes dancing with joy. He looks happier than Arthur’s ever seen him - even happier than he was when he got out of the mirror (out of that _cage_ and Arthur _still_ doesn’t know how he ended up in there in the first place but something keeps urging him to find out).

Another thing he’ll never forget is the look of devastation on Merlin’s face when they stumble across the ruins of a village, overgrown by wild vegetation.

Merlin spends the best of five minutes staring at the wreckage, and Arthur spends most of that time starting at Merlin.

“But… I don’t understand,” Merlin whispers, eyes flitting from one destroyed house to another. He starts walking, leaving Arthur with no choice but to follow him through the ruins.

The village was small (still _is_ small), and it’s not long before they’ve made their way across to the other side of it. Arthur keeps a close eye on Merlin to make sure he’s alright. Or, well, as alright as one can get when they’ve just found out that there is nothing left of their childhood home and that everyone they used to know is either dead or far away, unlikely to be found.

Merlin falls to his knees in front of one of the destroyed structures.

“This was my home,” he says. His eyes are swimming with tears, and it’s not long before they begin to make their way down his cheeks.

Only the back wall of the cottage is left intact; everything else is gone. There is a small tree growing in one corner, and there are vines and grass everywhere, just as with the other houses. The inside is filled with rubble.

Arthur kneels down next to Merlin and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s been like this for a while,” he says. The state of the village also partially explains why he could never find it. It must have been destroyed many years ago, and by the time he’d begun looking for it, most people would have forgotten all about it.

Merlin ignores him. He digs his fingers into the soil and tears at the grass for a few moments, before loosening his hold on it and stumbling to his feet. Arthur rises as well and watches Merlin was he moves forward into the wreckage of his home.

“I used to sleep here,” he says, pointing at one corner. “We usually ate there,” he adds, gesturing toward another.

He walks around, probably looking for any mementos of his childhood. After so many years, Arthur is unsurprised that he finds nothing. Whatever wasn’t taken by plunderers was likely destroyed or carried off by rain.

“My mother used to sleep there,” Merlin says, voice cracking. In an instant, he’s sitting on the grass and rocks in front of the place he’d just shown Arthur, holding his head and crying.

Arthur doesn’t know what to do. He wants to move forward, to hug Merlin and try to cheer him up somehow, but he’s worried that it would be unwelcome. He never knows what to do when Merlin gets like this. Arthur had not seen him this devastated in a very long time. Not even the all-too-frequent nightmares ever made him sorrowful to this extent, and while experience has taught him how to act when Merlin had just woken from one of them, he’s never quite managed to figure out what to do in such scenarios.

He doubts it would go over very well if he walked up and said, ‘I’m sorry that your mother is dead.’

Arthur decides to wait for Merlin to do something himself, maybe to stop crying or to walk up to Arthur and initiate close contact himself, but it gets harder to do by the second as Merlin’s sobs rise in volume.

Especially when the wind suddenly speeds up, whipping Arthur’s hair in front of his face. It quickly becomes powerful enough to make the remaining wall of the cottage tremble. Arthur hears a crash behind him and knows that it is another building collapsing.

Merlin’s lost control of his magic again.

  
Arthur walks up to Merlin as close as he can get, but the further he walks, the more these unnatural forces of nature push back, trying to keep him far, far away. Arthur walks on despite this - despite the fact that his eyes are tearing and his hair feels like it’s being ripped out with the roots. He finally collapses right beside Merlin, who seems to be the eye of the storm, and pulls him into an embrace. It seems that they’re doing a lot of that lately, the hugging. He’s never been one for much physical contact, but when it comes to Merlin he seems to be unable to stay away. He wonders if this is how all relationships are.

Merlin doesn’t react to his presence at all, not even with the slightest twitch of an eyelid. From the corner of his eye, Arthur can see that his eyes are a bright, molten gold.

“Merlin,” he says, giving Merlin a little shake. When there is no reaction he tries again. “Merlin, stop this.”

He’s worried that Merlin is so far gone that he can’t hear him, but Merlin blinks after a few more seconds, his eyes flitting over to Arthur, and Arthur swears he’s never before felt such a large and strong wave of relief wash over him.

“It’s gone. They’re all gone,” Merlin says in a hoarse whisper, latching onto Arthur’s coat and pulling him closer. “I’m too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur replies, and it seems as though that’s enough. Merlin cries into Arthur’s shoulder. By the time they finally get up, Arthur’s knees have gone sore and his legs feel unstable. He helps Merlin up, and refuses to let go of his hand when Merlin tries to move away, causing Merlin to send a weak, watery smile his way. Arthur lets Merlin pull him along, making sure to always stay right by his side, just like Merlin has been by him for a great part of his life.

Merlin leads him to the outskirts of the village.

“Will used to live here.”

“Will, your best friend?” Arthur asks. Merlin’s mentioned the name before a few times, and Arthur’s very glad that he remembers it.

Merlin nods.

“We used to get into all sorts of trouble,” he says. “Knocked down an old tree, once. With magic,” he adds, glancing at Arthur out of the corner of his eye. Arthur fights the frown trying to make its way onto his face, but he thinks Merlin catches it anyway. “Crashed right into Old Simmons’s barn. Had a good laugh about it till Mother found out. My arse was never the same after that,” he chuckles weakly. Arthur manages a smile.

“Your mother sounds like a nice person,” Arthur says. It comes out slightly sarcastic without him meaning to say it that way, but Merlin’s smile indicates that he didn’t notice it.

“She i-was.”

They slowly make their way to all of the cottages. Merlin tells him more stories, some happy and some sad, and Arthur listens. There’s a minute of silence at each one, during which Merlin prays for the souls of the previous occupants. Arthur has half a mind to ask him which gods he prays to, but decides against it in case he doesn’t like the answer and ends up sparking another argument. An argument is the last thing they need right now.

By the time they’re done, the sun is beginning to set. Merlin leads Arthur out of the village and back to the tunnels, this time taking a different, more scenic route through the forest and meadows that used to be fields.

One of the meadows turns out to be a mass grave - something they notice when they come across both a cross and druidic grave markings.

Arthur leaves Merlin to grieve and goes to collect flowers for the grave. It’s just a raised mound covered by grass, but leaving it be without showing any respect for the dead doesn’t sit right with Arthur. He manages to compose a slightly mangled bouquet of wildflowers of numerous colors and returns to Merlin’s side to lay them on the grave.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asks, instantly regretting what he’s just said and wanting to hit himself for asking such a stupid question (It’s the effect Merlin has on him, he swears!).

“Give me a moment,” Merlin replies, voice rough and eyes once again glimmering. From this angle, Arthur can’t see whether the cause is magic or tears, but he stays near Merlin anyway, just in case.

Merlin seems to have mostly accepted what had happened and is much calmer than he was before. Arthur privately thinks that he’s probably going to break down again, and hopes that Merlin will be able to wait until they’re back in Camelot and preferably comfortably tucked under Arthur’s bedclothes before he does so.

The calmness might also be caused by the fact that Merlin hasn’t seen anyone who used to live in this village, his mother included, in years, and it has distanced him from them. He was only a young child when he’d left, and Arthur is surprised he remembers as much as he did about Ealdor and its residents.

Arthur helps Merlin get up when it seems as though his legs aren’t working as well as they should. It’s no wonder, after Merlin having spent so much time in the same position.

In the light of the moon, Arthur leads Merlin away from the mass grave. It seems as though Merlin is incapable of looking away from it. It has an eerie sort of beauty about it, Arthur notices, what with all the flowers and field and moonlight.

He lifts his palm to Merlin’s face and gently turns him to face forward. Merlin smiles at him weakly, his eyes wet with tears, and allows himself to be turned away from the grave; away from the past.

“We need to get going if we’re to get any sleep tonight,” Arthur says, even though he knows that the only person likely to get any sleep this night will be him. He can’t imagine Merlin succumbing to sleep easily, but maybe the exhaustion will catch up to him and he’ll at least manage to get an hour or so of rest.

“I know,” Merlin replies, glancing at the grave one last time, his gaze full of longing and sorrow.

They make it to the edge of the clearing and are about to take their first steps onto the forest path that will lead them to the tunnels when something freezes Arthur’s feet to the ground.

“Arthur?” Merlin asks when he sees Arthur stop. Arthur tries to open his mouth to reply, but finds that he can’t. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

Arthur sees Merlin getting more and more worried the longer Arthur does nothing. He starts shouting Arthur’s name, and each time he says it is more desperate than the last, and still Arthur can do nothing but watch.

He has no way of warning Merlin when a hooded man shows up behind him, holding a heavy rock over their heads, and watches with trepidation as they come closer until they’re standing right behind Merlin.

Something must warn Merlin of the man’s presence - maybe it’s his magic - and Merlin whirls around, managing to evade the attacker as they bring down the rock.

“Who are you?!” Merlin demands. Arthur has never heard him sound so confident and demanding, nor seen him look so dangerous.

“Move out of the way, Emrys. Our quarrel is not with you,” the man replies, looking past him and right at Arthur. He drops the rock at his feet and moves his hood back to reveal his face.

His eyes are orange-yellow and glowing.

He’s the one keeping Arthur from moving. He’s a sorcerer out to kill him, and he’s everything the King has ever warned him about.

Merlin snorts.

“You say that _after_ you try to knock me over the head with a rock?!” Merlin answers. He’s still partially turned in Arthur’s direction, and Arthur can see his eyes widen with disbelief. He sounds so comical that if Arthur could, he’d probably laugh.

“We only want the Prince,” the man states, and his eyes are _still_ on Arthur and he _still_ can’t move and if only Merlin would _do something about it_ then Arthur could help him _get them out of this situation_.

Merlin, it seems, is too preoccupied with the sorcerer to bother freeing Arthur. He stands now with his back to Arthur, legs spread wide and shoulders squared.

“Then you’ll have to go through me first,” Merlin exclaims, voice unwavering. He thrusts both his arms forward. Arthur may not see Merlin’s eyes turn that brilliant shade of gold, but he can feel the magic as it rushes towards the sorcerer in front of them. The man lifts his own hands to try to defend himself, but Merlin is too fast and too strong, and he’s blown back. He crashes against a tree, his skull cracking loudly. The next moment, Arthur is once more able to move. He wastes no time and immediately reaches for his sword.

“Arthur, behind you!” Merlin shouts. Arthur whirls around, just in time to block a sword coming at him. He parries, then moves in to jam his blade into his attacker’s chest. There are more men behind him, and when he glances in Merlin’s direction, he sees even more.

Most of them are dressed in flowing brown robes.

They’re _Druids_ , Arthur realises. But why would Druids be attacking him? He’s never seen Druids mount an attack on anyone, and Merlin had regularly reminded him that they are a peaceful people who hate violence.

“What are you doing?!” Merlin shouts at him while Arthur stands there, looking on in shock. “Move!”

But Arthur can’t. This time, it’s not a spell that causes him to stop moving. It’s the sheer realisation that they’re being attacked by a group of Druids, of all people, most of whom probably have magic at their disposal. He and Merlin don’t stand a chance, not against this number of people - not against people Arthur can’t possibly protect himself from. He feels helpless.

Still, he’s a Pendragon, and giving up without a fight is not something that he’s ever done, and he doesn’t plan on doing it now. Maybe it’s the emotion in Merlin’s words, or maybe it’s the fact that he said something, anything, and it shocked Arthur out of his stupor, but he raises his sword and lunges forward at the first attacker, praying to the Gods that he doesn’t have magic that he could use in a fight against Arthur.

For once in his life, luck seems to be on his side (alright, no, that’s not true - he’s gotten lucky plenty of times before). He manages to kill two men in quick succession.

  
Unfortunately, his luck doesn’t seem to last. Once the second body falls, Arthur looks up to see that he is surrounded. All of his attackers - both women and men, from what he can see in the moonlight - are holding up their arms with their palms open in his direction. His sword flies out of his hands a second later.

He can’t see Merlin anywhere.

“Arthur Pendragon!” one of the Druids shouts. She moves forward to stand right in front of him, and oh, how he wishes he had his sword in his hand right now. “You are hereby charged with the murder of the magical people of Camelot. You have been found guilty and are therefore sentenced to death by the Gods of the Old Religion.”

Arthur doesn’t have time to comprehend the words before her eyes glow orange-gold. A quick glance around tells him that the other Druids are in the same state.

There is nothing he can do. There is no time to say anything to defend himself, and there is no way to avoid a magical attack such as this, that he knows of.

Arthur is about to die.

Camelot will lose its second King and all of Arthur’s plans and hopes for the future - for the future of his kingdom, as well as his own and Merlin’s - will not matter anymore.

What pains him the most is the fact that he’ll leave Merlin alone. Merlin, who has lost so much already. Merlin, who is innocent of sin and undeserving of all of the tragedies that have befallen him in this life. Merlin, whom Arthur loves with all his heart and wanted to spend the rest of his days with.

When a bright light encompasses his field of vision, he almost chuckles realising that his last thoughts will be of Merlin - a man who Arthur had never thought would be able to worm his way so deep into his heart.

Arthur closes his eyes in preparation for the final blow.

“No-one shall lay a finger on Arthur Pendragon!”

At first, Arthur doesn’t know who shouts these words. The voice is powerful and authoritative, and for one short second, Arthur wonders why it seems so familiar to him despite this. Giddy laughter bubbles in his chest as he realises that the voice belongs to the same person he’d just been thinking about.

The light around him disappears. As Arthur blinks to clear the black spots from his vision, he sees that there is only one light left. It’s to his right and has a bright golden glow.

“Emrys, you were not to interfere!” the Druid woman, probably the leader, replies, her own voice haughty, but Arthur can hear the slightest hint of a tremor. She should be scared, he thinks. Merlin’s magic has just overpowered all of theirs - something that will probably shock Arthur more once he finally has a second to catch his breath and let it seep in.

“I will not stand by and watch my friend be slaughtered for a crime he is innocent of!” Merlin answers. He walks to stand between Arthur and the Druid leader. A wave of magic pushes her back.

The other attackers that started closing in on the two of them are forced to freeze when Merlin calls forth a shield.

“You say he is innocent? You of all people should know how much blood he has on his hands! He would kill us all, if given half the chance,” the woman says, trying to force her way forward despite Merlin’s magic pushing her back.

“And yet I stand here before you, alive and well! Prince Arthur has promised to change the laws. We will have no need to fear for our lives any longer. Magic will have a place in Camelot, and no-one will be hunted any longer now that Prince Arthur shall take the throne,” Merlin announces, and Arthur has never felt more proud of both Merlin and himself, and what they will and have accomplished.

“The apple does not fall far from the tree! You will have your head under the executioner’s axe before you can blink,” the woman says. “Now move out of the way, Emrys, or I shall make you. I will not allow our kind to suffer any longer! Arthur Pendragon should have been killed by the chimera. He may have escaped death once, but I will personally ensure that he does not do it again.”

Arthur’s eyes widen in realisation. He hadn’t given much thought to where the monster had come from - magical beings often appeared in Camelot - but it had never crossed his mind that it may have been sent specifically to kill him.

“Have you any idea how many people you killed, releasing that monster upon these lands?!” Arthur asks, still looking at the Druid leader in disbelief. “How much death and destruction you wrought upon Camelot and its citizens?”

“It was a small price to pay to ensure the survival of all those with magic,” the woman replies, looking entirely unrepentant for her actions. “Those few who died are nothing compared to the amount of my people who have done the same because of your tyrant of a father.”

Arthur feels rage simmer in the pit of his stomach at the insult to the late King, but he knows to hold his tongue.

“And yet when Merlin and I promise that things will no longer be how they used to, you refuse to believe us. I swear, on my honour as the future King of Camelot that your people will no longer have to live in fear. As long as nobody suffers at your hands, you will be free to do as you wish, just like any other citizen of this land,” Arthur exclaims.

The woman looks down at him in disdain, her eyebrows raised high on her forehead and her lips pursed.

“Forgive me if I do not trust in the word of the son of a murderer, nor of his pet warlock who is responsible for the absolute destruction of an entire village,” the woman spits at them, her eyes glowing gold once again. Arthur waits for the show of magic, but none comes.

It is only then that what the Druid leader said permeates through Arthur’s brain.

“What are you talking about?”

Merlin beats him to the question, his voice wrought with confusion and fear. Arthur takes a quick step forward and puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder in a show of solidarity. He gets a warm feeling in his chest when Merlin leans into it, muscles partially relaxing.

“You don’t remember,” the Druid woman realises, her eyes widening to look at Merlin more fully. “You have no idea what you did.”

“What did I do?” Merlin asks, the tone of his voice becoming more fearful and worried by the second. Arthur squeezes his shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, but he’s not sure how well that works.

“Have you never wondered how you found yourself enslaved in a mirror? An inanimate object, from which you could only look at the world around you, but not fully interact with it?” she asks. Arthur is about to ask her how she even knows about that, because it has always been a tightly kept secret and this woman has no right to this information. “Have you never wondered who put you there?” she continues, voice growing more and more menacing by the second.

“Of course I have! I spe- _Arthur_ and I spent years trying to figure out what happened and how to get me out. Why? What do you know? Tell me!” Merlin demands. He stands tall and proud, with his back straight and his head up, demanding complete obedience. Arthur does not know where this particular stance came from (maybe Merlin spent too much time watching Arthur in his youth), and it’s making him inappropriately even more attracted to Merlin right now.

There is a rustling sound coming from all around them, telling Arthur that the Druids are whispering amongst themselves.

“When you were a child, your magic was beyond your control,” the woman says after a long, pregnant silence. “One night, your village was attacked by bandits. You tried to protect it, but as you had no grasp on your magic, it burst out in a frenzy, dealing death and destruction to all. Everything was in flames, burnt down before the night was over,” she says brutally, her eyes flashing and lips tight with anger.

“No,” Merlin whispers, visibly horrified. “No, I couldn’t have-”

“You were the only one left alive.”

Merlin is swaying on his feet, and for a second, Arthur is unsure whether or not he’s about to collapse.

“How long do you think it will take the Prince you so love to call for your death now?” she asks, looking past Merlin and straight at Arthur. He sees nothing in her eyes beyond hatred and fear.

“And the mirror?” Arthur asks when it becomes clear that Merlin is speechless. “How did he end up in there?”

“He was found by a group of Druids. There was nothing that could be done to control his power, so it had to be contained, put somewhere where it would be unable to harm anyone, until the time came when he grew old enough and found a way to handle it,” the woman answers.

“Why send him to me, then? With his magic, and my parentage, surely someone must have realised that it wasn’t the best of ideas!” Arthur exclaims, because in all honesty, _someone_ should have figured out how stupid of an idea it was to sent Merlin somewhere where he could have easily been killed.

“He was sent to you because of the prophecy! The Once and Future King and Emrys, two sides of the same coin. Your destinies are intertwined and always have been and always will be. You were the only one who could hope to help him, you could even attempt to bring the magic inside Emrys under some semblance of control.” All of a sudden Arthur felt stupid for not connecting the dots sooner. Merlin had always turned to him whenever he had had problems with his magic, whether it be nightmares or accidental daily occurrences. It was only hours before that Arthur had managed to calm Merlin down despite the magic running rampant. “Many Druids still believe this, yet we gathered here have decided to bring destiny into our own hands because enough is enough. We cannot sit by and watch our brethren be slaughtered for crimes they are innocent of, cannot watch as you become more and more like your father, and he protects you despite all your wrongdoings, prophecy and fate be damned!”

“I beg of you, give us one last chance,” Arthur says, falling to his knees. This startles Merlin, who looks down at him in surprise.

“Arthur, no. What are you doing?” he asks, but the words are quiet enough that despite the Druid woman’s close proximity, Arthur is sure that he is the only one who can hear them.

“Give us one last chance,” Arthur repeats, this time louder. “To bring magic back to Camelot. To unite the lands of Albion. That is all that I ask. If it does not happen, then I will come back here myself, alone and unarmed, and allow you to do with me as you wish.”

His words cause hushed conversations to break out between the Druids. The woman looks around and releases a surge of magic that makes the noise die down.

“Your fate is in our hands. I was chosen as the leader , but I cannot speak for all who are here. There shall be a vote,” she decides. “All those in favour of executing the King of Camelot, raise your hands.”

Many hands are raised, some right away, while others take a bit longer t. Arthur doesn’t have time to count them all before they are down once again.

“All in favour of giving the King one more chance to righten his wrongs, raise your hands,” she says. Hands are raised again, and, just as before, they are put down before Arthur can count them. Merlin is standing with one hand stretched out in front of him and one in his hair, the heel of it near his eyes, looking as though he’s trying to hold back his tears. He’s lost to the world, no longer paying attention to what is going on around him. Despite part of him screaming at him not to do it, Arthur directs his gaze away from him and toward the Druid leader.

“It has been decided. Arthur Pendragon, you have one last chance. Do not waste it,” she says, visibly dissatisfied with the outcome of the vote. She turns around and walks away, the others following right behind her. Arthur watches them go, filled with relief that she kept her word, and not a small bit of confusion.

But they’ve both made it out alive, and that’s what matters. Arthur slowly pushes himself up to his feet and moves to stand right next to Merlin, shoulder to shoulder.

“I guess we know now,” Merlin says, his voice dead and distant. “After all these years, we finally know.”

Arthur turns to look at him. Merlin is staring into the night sky. There are tear tracks on his face, and he looks completely knackered.

“Yes,” Arthur says, and Merlin flinches at the word. “And we’ve been granted the opportunity to make things right. You will help me, of course?” he asks, only partially changing the topic because he wants to take Merlin’s mind off the other things the Druid woman said.

Merlin manages a tiny smile, and Arthur feels as though a large weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Of course,” Merlin replies. “Did you expect anything else?”

“Not really, but you’ve always told me that it’s better to ask,” Arthur says, leaning in to give Merlin a quick peck on the lips.

“So you do listen to me,” Merlin says, sounding the slightest bit amused. Arthur snorts.

  
“Don’t let it get to your head.” And just like that, the tension that had been between them since the attack is gone. “Come. Let’s go home.

The journey back to Camelot is faster than the journey to Ealdor. It is only a few days before they are back home, where they belong. Arthur makes jokes about being surprised to see that the citadel is still standing, considering that Morgana was left in charge for so long, and Merlin laughs, albeit weakly. It will take a long time for the pain to pass, but getting Merlin back home, where he is surrounded by people who love him, is going to be the first step in this arduous journey.

The council is in disarray, what with one king having died and the other disappeared, and their relief at seeing Arthur is palpable. There is much commotion as they try to speak over each other, each man keen to present Arthur with information regarding whatever had happened over the past few days.

Arthur is crowned the next day, with Merlin watching from the front row of the audience with a proud smile on his face. It is both the worst and best day in Arthur’s life. It is also the first time he takes Merlin to bed, and that is a night full of wonders and magic that Arthur will never forget.

They begin to work on rewriting the laws soon after. Morgana proves to be a tremendous help, as she has already been working on such things for a long time, which Arthur finds both a bit terrifying (because what if the late King had found out?) and helpful.

The laws are implemented slowly, and, as expected, treated with suspicion. It helps that a group of Druids come to Camelot to pledge their allegiance to Arthur. Once other sorcerers realise that the new laws are not a way to urge magical folks out of hiding, they start coming out of the woodwork, and soon enough, there are almost as many of them as there are people without magic.

Then, finally, comes the day when Arthur announces Merlin Court Sorcerer. There’s a beautiful ceremony, with the whole of Camelot watching as Arthur touches each of Merlin’s shoulders with the flat side of his sword. Arthur stands before him, wearing his crown and a red cape emblazoned with the Pendragon emblem. Merlin is kneeling, wearing a cloak. The color is the richest blue Arthur could find, and it carries Arthur’s sigil.

All of Camelot cheers as Arthur utters the words that promise to unite the magic and the mundane - that promise to make Camelot a land of peace and prosperity, a land where citizens are not discriminated on the basis of who they are or what they can do.

“Rise, Merlin Emrys,” Arthur says, a smile slowly making its way onto his face, “Court Sorcerer of Camelot.”

  
And thus, the Golden Age of Camelot begins.

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact for you! Did you know that one of the magical properties of silver is that it reflects away negativity and evil intentions? And since mirrors were made from silver in those times (at least that's what my research has told me), I decided that a mirror would be the perfect place to put Merlin. Not that Merlin was evil or had bad intentions, but what he did had very negative outcomes, so I sort of twisted this into silver being able to contain bad magic? Kind of? Sort of? So while he was in there, he had absolute control, but when he got out of the mirror, he gradually lost it. Does that make sense?
> 
> ...Remember how we talked about guilt-tripping you into commenting? Keep in mind how very nervous I am and how much better your comments would make me feel :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art: Instead of my Reflection (I see you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828708) by [LFB72](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72)




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